


A Different Way Home

by theJovianMute



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Disabilities, Ed's Foul Mouth, Eventual Happy Ending, Hooker Roy, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Rape, Rape NOT between Roy and Ed, Student Ed, Violence, Vision-Impaired Roy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2018-12-20 09:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 77,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theJovianMute/pseuds/theJovianMute
Summary: Roy's standing on a freezing street corner, his body for sale and his pride long-since gone, when the boy in the red coat approaches him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A long while ago, in a brief burst of confidence, I posted my first fic. Since then my confidence tanked, and I haven't managed to convince myself to do it again. Then [Ed and Roy Week](http://royedweek.tumblr.com/) popped up on my dash, and I remembered I'd started a RoyEd fic which would pretty much fit the bill. So I pushed myself to finish the first chapter properly, and here I am, posting it with an hour to spare - go me! I'm determined to keep going with this one - I'm not a fast writer, but I'll get there eventually. 
> 
> This is set in a modern-day, alchemy-less Amestria. Roy's a little more broken than the one from the series/manga, and has fallen a lot further down. I've come across a few hooker-Ed fics but haven't yet found one with Roy on that side of the fence, so decided to flip the tables. There's some dark stuff in later chapters, but the payoff will hopefully be worth it - hurt/comfort is pretty much my favourite thing ever.

Roy shivers in the freezing night air, the chill of the bricks he's leaning against seeping through the worn cotton of his t-shirt. He'd kill for a jacket, but he gets more attention without it; the t-shirt a size too small to show off the lines of his body. He no longer has the definition he once did, knows he's skirting the edge between slender and 'too thin' these days, but that seems to appeal to a certain sort of customer. 

Not that he's having much luck tonight. He's been standing on this frigid corner for half an hour already without a hint of interest. Business is always slow on a Monday night, he knows, but hopefully it will pick up - not only does he need the money, but even just five or ten minutes in a heated car would give him a chance to warm up a little. He rubs his hands together, trying to create a little heat with the friction. It's times like this that he almost - _almost_ \- misses the desert heat. 

Roy's scanning for potential marks when he catches sight of the figure in red walking his way. He squints a little to try and make out more detail; his vision is particularly poor at night, faces little more than shadowed blurs until they get within a couple of feet and he can make out actual features. The figure's small, though, and has what he assumes is a spill of long golden hair over one shoulder. Roy spares a moment to wonder whether the girl knows what kind of risk she's taking, walking through this part of the city alone at night. It's none of his business, of course - and considering where he's ended up it'd be a little hypocritical for him to be giving advice on poor life choices. The girl slides from his thoughts quickly enough as he goes back to looking out for tricks, occasionally stamping his feet, trying to restore circulation to his icy toes.

But the figure in red stops in front of him instead of continuing on past, and - despite what is indeed a long blond ponytail - the flat chest and angled jawline he can finally make out reveal the error in his assumption: this isn't a girl at all, it's a teenaged boy. The boy has his hands shoved into his pockets, feet planted solidly, his expression a mix of curiosity, determination and defiance as he stares at Roy intently.

"Can I help you?" Roy asks mildly. 

The boy's eyes are a bright, almost luminescent amber beneath the sodium glow of the streetlights, matching the fall of golden hair. It's a striking look, especially paired with the black pants and shirt, topped by the blood-red coat. 

The kid continues to stare at him, and Roy is just about to let loose a sarcastic comment when the kid abruptly finds his tongue, blurting: "How much?" The words seem to startle the boy as much as they startle Roy, if his mortified expression is anything to go by. 

Roy raises an eyebrow, and then makes a show of looking the boy up and down. He's not the best judge of age, but he doubts this guy is older than fifteen or sixteen. "I don't fuck kids," he says bluntly. The boy is cute, but even if underage was his thing - which it isn't - he wouldn't risk that kind of pick-up out in the open like this. 

The boy's expression darkens, his face flushing with a sudden anger, but he makes a visible attempt to rein himself in before replying. "I'm _not_ a kid."

Roy raises both eyebrows this time in blatant disbelief. 

The kid scowls at him. "I'm eighteen. I'm a goddamn university student." 

It's possible, Roy muses, looking the guy over again. He has something of an ageless face himself, able to pass for twenty as easily as thirty - another thing that draws his clientele to him. The kid is short, only a scant inch or two above the five foot mark, but his build is solid enough, his shoulders square. 

Still, it's better to be paranoid than arrested. "ID?" Roy asks. 

"Seriously!?" The kid explodes, muttering dire invectives under his breath. "I'm being IDed by a hooker? What the fuck is my life?" 

"You're welcome to try a hooker with a more flexible moral code if you so desire," Roy says, gesturing further down the street to where he knows some of the other guys work this time of night. There's a small group of them that band together for protection, but Roy's always been a loner. 

The boy glances in the direction Roy indicates, but quickly shakes his head. "No. No, I want you." His cheeks flush pink with embarrassment as he says it, but his mouth presses into a determined line, as if daring Roy to doubt his resolve.

And that is interesting. Roy wonders what exactly it is about him that's drawn this particular kid. He knows that his mixed-race features are a draw for some men: the raven hair and dark eyes of his mother, combined with the pale Amestrian skin of his father. But generally it's the bigger guys that go for the Xingese look; the ones who get off on having someone smaller and lighter to manhandle and dominate. It's not something Roy particularly enjoys, but he's not in a position to turn down anyone willing to pay for his time. 

Speaking of which. The kid is reaching into his pocket now, still scowling, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open, sliding out a small rectangle of plastic. He holds it up for Roy to inspect with a defiant expression. It's unexpectedly appealing, the stubborn little V between his brows, the determined jut of his jaw. So many of the men he encounters are jaded and emotionally numb, using him to try desperately to feel something, that this kid's spirit burns magnesium-bright in comparison. 

Roy looks down at the card, making out the colour and layout of a local driver's licence, but in the dim lighting he hasn't got a hope of reading the text, and he curses his deficient vision yet again. Still, it makes little sense for the kid to show him a licence which proves him to be under-age, so odds are it backs up his claim. It could be a fake, of course, but these days the fakes are so good he probably couldn't make out the difference even if he could see. 

"All right," Roy allows, deciding to go with it for now. 

The kid puts the card back in his wallet and shoves it back in his pocket with apparent satisfaction. "So, how much?" He asks, repeating his original question. 

Roy is somewhat nonplussed by the kid's stubborn determination. The guy's gorgeous and seems personable enough, if a little forthright, and Roy wonders what the hell he's doing picking up a hooker. The kid could walk into any gay bar or club and would draw men like flies to honey -  
Roy knows exactly how popular young-looking twinks are with the gay crowd. 

Still, it's not Roy's place to question the motivations of his clients, he's just here to do his job and get paid. 

"Four thousand cenz for a hand, six for my mouth, ten if you want to fuck me. I don't fuck without protection, and anything kinky costs extra." The spiel is rote by now, and Roy rattles it off without even an internal flinch - unlike his first few days on the job, when every crude word had bruised his sense of self to the core.

The kid considers this for a moment. "What about if I want you to, uh, fuck me?" 

Roy manages to keep his expression bland despite the unexpectedness of the question. It's not something he's been asked for before - which is fortunate, because he's not the sort who can get an erection on command. He's not sure he _could_ get into it enough to be able to fuck a client; he can't recall many previous tricks who have genuinely turned him on. And it's been a long time - longer than he wants to think about - since he last had sex because he wanted to. 

His first instinct is to reject the request, tell the kid that that particular activity isn't on the menu, but something makes him hesitate. There's a long-buried part of him that's flickering to life, tentative embers glowing faintly in the darkness. The kid is gorgeous, there's no denying that, but Roy's had good-looking customers before and looks have never been enough to jump-start his engine alone. It's a combination of everything about this particular kid - his earnest eyes, his stubborn, determined mouth, and the bright, aggressive flare of life inside of him - that draws Roy like a moth to a flame. 

He thinks, to his surprise, that maybe it's something he _could_ do with this kid. _With_ him, rather than to him. It's a dangerous way to think - he learnt a long time ago that trust and hope in other people only ever leads to pain - and moths are all-too-often consumed by the flames they seek. But still, that faint, tentative flicker of desire is there inside of him, and he thinks that perhaps it could be fanned into flames of genuine - and perhaps mutual - want.

"Fucking's ten thousand, either way," he says, hoping it comes out more casually than he feels.

The boy nods acknowledgement, seemingly unaware of Roy's inner turmoil. "So, where do you, uh… usually go, to do… it?" He asks, wincing at the awkwardness of the words.

"Car or hotel, generally," Roy answers, resisting the way his mouth wants to curl into a smile. The kid's naivety is amusing, but Roy can't quite help finding it adorable as well. 

"Would it be all right to go to my place?" 

Roy shrugs. "If you'd prefer. It doesn't make any difference to me." He usually ends up in cars or hotel rooms because his clients don't want a whore sullying their their own beds - even if they don't have wives or girlfriends to hide him from. But Roy has no issue with the idea itself - a home is likely to mean heating, and a reasonably comfortable bed. 

The kid hesitates, and then asks boldly: "What about if I wanted you to stay all night?"

"The entire night?" Roy raises an eyebrow, and the kid nods confirmation.  
On a slow night he makes thirty or forty thousand. On a good night, he can take home a hundred thousand, although those are the nights he ends up crawling into bed at dawn, feeling scoured and hollow and used. But to be out of the cold for the entire evening is pretty appealing; tempting enough for him to apply a discount on what he'd otherwise be tempted to charge. 

"Sixty thousand," Roy says. "Payment up front." 

Roy wonders whether the price will be enough to scare the kid off. He hardly looks like the sort who tens of thousands to burn on hookers whenever he feels like it. Nothing about him indicates wealth: his boots are worn and scuffed and the tears in his canvas satchel have obviously been mended by hand. Nothing he's wearing is designer or labelled. He looks like any other university student, with enough cash to scrape by, even if the last few meals each month are instant noodles. 

But the kid doesn't so much as wince, nodding as if the amount is entirely reasonable. 

"All right, then," the kid says with satisfaction. "It's a deal."

"Agreed."

There is silence for a few moments as the kid's expression transforms into something uncomfortable, his gaze sliding off to the side and his weight shifting from one foot to the other. It's the sort of awkwardness he usually sees when somebody is working themselves up to ask for something particularly kinky or degrading. Roy has a moment to start worrying about what exactly the boy wants to do to him, before the kid seems to come to some kind of conclusion, raises his chin defiantly, and pulls the glove off his right hand to reveal a fairly high-tech prosthesis. 

"Will this be a problem?" The kid asks, holding the hand out towards Roy and curling each of the metal fingers closed and then open again. With his other hand in a fist, he reaches down to knock on his left thigh, which echoes hollowly. "Leg, too."

And that is not at all what Roy expected; he actually has to work to keep the surprise from his expression this time. The boy walks and moves so naturally that Roy would never have suspected two of his limbs weren't natural if he hadn't been told. The mechanics and joints visible in the flexing right hand are more advanced than anything he's seen before, and the boy's obviously had them long enough to make controlling them second nature. 

Still, he imagines that two missing limbs could potentially make things awkward when it comes to intimate relations, and for the first time he has some inkling of why the kid is approaching him rather than going out to a club to pick up. He can only imagine the kinds of reactions the kid might receive from random hook-ups, especially in the gay scene, which tends towards the worship of bodily perfection. 

But Roy has no issues with damaged bodies, not after the kinds of physical trauma he's seen, and the damage inflicted upon his own. If anything, he finds himself feeling an odd kind of brotherhood with this boy and his imperfect body, and he has a sudden desire to show the boy that desirability has nothing to do with being physically whole or perfect. Maybe that's something he'll get a chance to do tonight. 

"They're not a problem for me," Roy says, letting his expression speak his sincerity. 

The kid's discomfort evaporates, his grin blooming fierce and radiant. "Great!" He declares. "Let's do it!" 

Roy lets himself smile this time - the boy's awkward enthusiasm is ridiculously endearing. 

The kid winces as he twigs to the accidental double entendre, but he recovers quickly and holds out his hand. "Oh, hey - I'm Ed."

Yet another surprise - most of his tricks remain deliberately anonymous, and those who give him a name use obvious aliases. Roy never asks, and never offers his own in return. But he has no doubt that Ed has just handed him his actual given name without a second thought, and something in Roy warms at this small display of openness and trust. It also compels him to offer the same in return, despite his better judgement urging him to remain safely behind the shield of anonymity. 

"Roy." The name sounds almost foreign to himself, it's so rare that he has reason to use it these days. 

Roy reaches to shake the outstretched hand, realising at the last moment that he's reached out with his right while the kid's offered his left. There's an awkward moment where he's forced to switch hands before grasping the one offered. For a moment he just assumes the kid must be left-handed, and then it hits him - of course the kid prefers to shake with his natural hand rather than the prosthesis. He wonders what other adaptations the kid's had to make to fit into a two-handed world. 

The kid - Ed - doesn't seem ruffled by the moment of awkwardness, his grip firm and sure. Roy doesn't think he's ever shaken the hand of a trick, either; apparently it's to be a day of firsts. So far Ed isn't so much bending the rules of convention as shattering them, and Roy's usual ability to keep himself at a distance along with them. He has to remind himself that no matter how friendly and sincere the kid is, he's still just a client. It's one night's work, and then he'll probably never see the kid again. 

"Shall we?" Roy asks, as Ed continues to simply stand and grin at him. 

"Oh! Oh, yeah, hell yeah! Let's go." Ed gestures for Roy to follow him, and Roy obediently falls into step beside him as they continue on down the street together. 

* * *

Ed has _no fucking idea_ what he's doing.

And Al is going to _kill_ him. 

He certainly hadn't set out to hire a hooker tonight. He'd been fed up and frustrated as he'd left campus this evening, bored of the same rut his life has been stuck in lately, sick of the same paths he's been treading and retreading day by day. The afternoon had dragged interminably and he'd grown more and more antsy and irritable, even snapping at Al when he'd called to let Ed know he wouldn't be home that night. By the time he'd shoved his books into his satchel at the end of the last lecture, he knew he had to do something to try and break himself out of the petulant, pigheaded mood he'd sunk into. He'd decided to start with something simple and take a different route home - he'd figured that maybe he'd stumble across a new take-away place, or a comic book shop he hadn't come across before. 

Instead, he'd found Roy. 

The guy had caught his attention from a distance: a slender figure with his back temptingly arched, shoulders pressed against the bricks behind him, one knee bent with his foot flat on the wall. He was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and Ed shivered sympathetically - the guy must be freezing his ass off. All the same, the t-shirt did offer a nice view of his flat chest and belly, and the long, toned muscles of his arms. 

As he'd got closer Ed had filled in more details: straight black hair that fell to the tops of his ears, the shine of it a silver halo lit by the streetlight above, a stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. His eyes were dark and alert, flickering to each of the evening travellers as they passed him by, assessing them intently. He was the sort of good-looking that Ed found most attractive - sharp, lean and confident, with just a hint of danger about him. The heat of _want_ flared in the pit of his belly, startling him with its intensity - it was rare that Ed felt so attracted to anyone on first sight. 

It had taken Ed an embarrassingly long time to realise that the guy was a hooker. He'd already passed several men loitering along the street who had watched him go by with the same contemplative gaze, but he hadn't really thought anything of it. It wasn't until he found himself in front of the guy that all the pieces fell into place. A few moments later he realised he was standing there staring like an imbecile, and was receiving an assessing look in return. 

"Can I help you?" The guy had asked in a rich, smooth tenor. He was well-spoken, his accent precise and refined - not what Ed had expected from a street worker, and for a few moments he was taken aback. 

And then, without any actual input from his brain, he'd blurted: "How much?" 

Ed was caught somewhere between horrified and aghast at his own impulsiveness. Of all the stupid, impetuous things he'd ever done, this had to rank up there with the best of them. What the hell was he thinking? Had his dick somehow taken total control of his brain? He'd never even had sex before, much less with a guy, and now he was suddenly deciding to proposition a gay hooker? 

But the desire was still there, bright and hot and growing as he stood transfixed by the guy's dark, astute gaze. Ed _wanted_ him, wanted to feel the warmth of his mouth and solidness of his body against Ed's own. So why the hell shouldn't he hire a hooker, if he wanted? It wasn't a crime. It wouldn't hurt anybody. It's what the guy did for a living - there shouldn't be any shame in it, for either of them. Ed had to lose his virginity some time, so he might as well do it in a way that let him call the shots. 

And he had the money, sitting in the bank account he and Al jointly shared. The legacy of their absent father, he and Al had sworn never to resort to it out of need - and they'd fucking stuck to it, supported themselves without any help from the asshole's pity cash. But that meant the money was still just sitting there, and Ed felt a satisfying sense of pleasure at the thought of how displeased the bastard would be to know his son was contemplating using it to hire a gay hooker. 

Meanwhile, said hooker was giving him the once over - and calling him a goddamn fucking kid. Well, if Ed hadn't been resolved to go through with this before, he certainly was now. If there was one thing he was good at, it was pushing back against assholes who thought he was too young to do something. He was old enough to drink, drive, and hire a goddamn hooker if he wanted, and he'd damn well prove it if he had to, despite the indignity of being carded by a sex worker.

Once they'd sorted the details, Ed had a moment of sobering realisation - having sex with this guy was going to mean getting naked. Which - yes, ok - should have been obvious from the outset, but forward thinking had never been Ed's strong suit. He had no idea how the guy was going to react to his prostheses. It wasn't like he was ashamed of his artificial limbs; they were hella useful, and he'd have a much fucking harder time managing without them. But the looks and comments and questions got damn tiresome after a while, so he typically went gloved simply to avoid the hassle. It wasn't something he'd could avoid if he was going to fuck this guy, though, and he had no idea how the guy was going to react to a double amputee. 

But Ed wasn't a coward, and he wasn't going to let fear get in the way of something he wanted. He took a deep breath, lifted his head, and pulled off the glove - putting it all out there for the guy to see, even as he braced for the reaction. 

But none of the expressions he expected - distaste, awkwardness, or worst of all, pity - materialised. The guy looked thoughtful for a moment, and then met his gaze evenly and said it wasn't a problem. Ed wasn't always the best at reading people, but he knew a genuine reaction when he saw one. The guy had seen his disability, acknowledged it, and accepted it - without any kind of judgement. 

That's when Ed realised that he was kinda gone on the guy. It was entirely ridiculous - it wasn't as if he really knew anything about him: they'd spent five minutes together and barely exchanged a handful of words. But even the little he'd seen made Ed think that Roy was someone worth getting to know, and he'd found himself wanting to, just as much as he wanted to fuck the guy. 

It wasn't a smart thing to want, not from a hooker he was paying to spend the night with and then would probably never see again. He tried to resign himself to the fact that Roy would be gone come morning - all they'd ever have, most likely, would be this one too-short night. 

But then again, he thought, his irrepressible optimism twisting it back around - they had this night. Even if they never had anything beyond tonight, he was still going to be able to talk to Roy, touch him, connect their bodies in the closest way possible and get to know him as well as anyone could in a span of only hours. This night was his and he wasn't going to squander it, or waste time wishing it was something more than what it was. 

He was going to spend the night with Roy, and that was pretty fucking awesome, no matter what happened afterwards. 

"Shall we?" Roy asks, breaking him from his reverie, and they set off down the street together. 

So that's how Ed finds himself escorting a hooker back to his apartment one freezing Monday evening. It might not be the most well-thought-out plan he's embarked on, but he doesn't think he's going to regret it. He darts a glance at Roy, and finds Roy looking back at him - Ed flushes with nervous embarrassment and Roy gives him a knowing smirk that gets him flushing for an entirely different reason. Ed's not sure how even just the curve of Roy's lips can be so damn sexy. 

Even if Al _does_ kill him, Ed thinks this might be worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy is fed, Ed is kissed, labels are contemplated, and there are orgasms all round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the first few chapters of this are going to be pure fluff and smut. Basically, I wanted to develop the relationship a little before everything goes to hell. So if anyone's just interested in the happy porny stuff, read on and I'll warn you when things are about to get dark so you can bail.
> 
> I had intended to include both Roy and Ed's POV in this chapter and get through the entire evening, but I hit 10k words and still wasn't done and realised I really needed to split it in half. On the upside, that means I already have 3k of the next chapter done!

Ed leads Roy to a large apartment block made of grey stone. They take the lift up to the fourth floor and head down a corridor to the door at the end. Unlike Roy's apartment block, this one is relatively tidy and clean, even if the peeling and faded paint gives away its age. 

Ed fumbles his keys before managing to get the right one in the lock, and Roy notices that he has a little plastic suit of armour on his keyring. The silver paint is chipped and scratched, marking it as a long-time favourite. Roy wonders if Ed fancies himself something of a knight in shining armour.

Once Ed's managed to unlock the door, he holds it open and gestures for Roy to go through. "So this is my place," he says, somewhat unnecessarily.

Roy enters with a touch of caution. He's not expecting Ed to try and pull anything unexpected or untoward, but old habits die hard.

Directly inside there's a little entrance hall, with a bookcase crammed with books on one side and a shoe rack on the other, above which are a row of pegs. Ed divests himself of his long red coat and hooks it onto one of the unoccupied pegs. He then proceeds to lean against the wall to unlace his boots and tug them off, so Roy assumes this is household protocol and removes his shoes as well. He places them in a spare space at the end of the rack, noting as he does that there are two distinctly different sizes of shoes present. The smaller size likely belongs to Ed - a supposition borne out as Ed dumps his boots haphazardly beside the smaller set of sneakers - but there's no explanation for the latter. 

"You have a housemate?" Roy asks casually, gesturing towards the larger sets of shoes. It's not likely to indicate anything sinister, but if Roy needs to keep an ear out for a boyfriend returning home early, that will definitely change the tone of the evening. 

But Ed doesn't look in the least abashed, nodding and visibly brightening. "My brother, Al. He's a year younger than me, but he's fucking brilliant." There's unvarnished pride and affection in Ed's tone; it's obvious the brothers are close.

"He's not here tonight," Ed adds. "He's staying with his girlfriend." His nose wrinkles, and Roy wonders if it reflects Ed's opinion of said girlfriend, the idea of a girlfriend in general, or the idea of his brother being sexually intimate with anyone. 

Ed heads through the archway and into what Roy presumes is the main room of the apartment. Roy follows, looking around curiously. It's a reasonably-sized lounge, with a kitchen directly attached to the right. In the lounge area two couches are arranged with a television opposite, and a dining table is strewn with textbooks, notebooks, paper and pens. 

Ed dumps his satchel in the corner by the dining table, pulls off his gloves and tosses them on top, and then turns back to Roy. 

"Payment up front, right?" 

Roy nods, surprised - he often has to prompt tricks to remember that part, especially first-timers who don't know the drill yet. 

"Be right back! Feel free to make yourself comfortable, or whatever."

Ed disappears down the hallway, and Roy uses the opportunity to look around. The apartment has a lived-in feel, with evidence of the occupants' personality in everything from the carefully-repaired furniture to the assortment of geeky nick-nacks arranged along the windowsill. There's no coherent colour scheme, but the mismatched curtains, cushions and throw rugs - which should in theory clash rather horribly - simply make the place look bright and homely. 

Best of all, Ed must have flipped on the heating as they entered, and warm air is already circulating, slowly defrosting Roy's numb extremities.

Roy finds himself drawn to the table and it's haphazard spread of books and papers. The notes are written in two different hands - one neat but cramped, the other a chicken-scratch scrawl - neither of which his vision can make out. But the titles of the textbooks are printed in bold, clear capitals, and he aches at their familiarity: "Fundamentals of Materials Science", "Introduction to Electrodynamics", "Malchion's Inorganic Chemistry", "Classical Mechanics". The texts range across the sciences, from biology to chemistry to physics and several crossover areas in between.

One of the textbooks is open, and he lifts the front half of the pages so he can read the cover. The design on the rust-coloured background is immediately familiar, and he doesn't even need to read the title to know what it is: "A History of Chemical Discovery". He runs a finger over the bonds of the molecule on the cover, an odd sense of nostalgia stealing over him. 

In his peripheral vision he sees Ed return and approach the table to stand beside him. 

"Rifamycin," Ed comments, looking at the cover Roy is still staring at, lost in memory. 

"Rifampicin," Roy corrects absently, and then freezes as he realises what he's just revealed. 

Ed's eyes widen and he looks down at the cover and then back up at Roy. 

"You've studied chemistry?" Ed asks, surprise and confusion in his tone. 

"A long time ago, yes," Roy says stiffly. He carefully re-opens the book to where he'd marked the place with a finger, waiting for the inevitable question: _so how the fuck did you go from studying chemistry to whoring yourself on a street corner?_

But Ed surprises him yet again. "That's so cool!" Ed says, his delight seemingly genuine. "What was your favourite? Organic or inorganic?" 

"Inorganic," Roy replies automatically. The sudden, vivid image of flames blazing against a starlit desert sky reminds him of the uses his chemical knowledge was put to, and he shuts the memory down hard, his hands clenched into shaking fists. 

"Mine too!" Ed enthuses, oblivious to Roy's distress. "Al's totally into organic, he's probably going to go into medical research or biomedical engineering or something fancy like that. He really likes people, wants to do something where he can work with them, not just be stuck in a lab all the time. I'm still undecided. I mean, materials engineering would be fascinating, but I'm not sure what I'd do with it, y'know? Astronomy is kinda tempting, too, but it's not all that practical. Al says it's more important to do what you love than what's useful, but there's a lot to be said for not worrying about where your next meal is coming from."

Speaking of income seems to remind him of his errand, and he holds out his hand, in which is a folded bundle of notes. "Sixty thousand," he says, sounding oddly cheerful about the amount. 

Roy's not even going to ask. He takes the money and slips it into his pocket. Normally he'd count it first, especially if it was from a trick he didn't know or didn't trust, but he wants to trust Ed. More than that, he wants Ed to _be_ trustworthy. His self-preservation instincts mutter their discontent, but he forces himself to ignore them. 

"And speaking of food, I'm _starving_ ," Ed says, with enough fervour to imply that he hasn't eaten in a week. "I'm gonna cook. Stir fry all right with you? It's not real Xingese style, as Al's girlfriend likes to point out _repeatedly_ , but it's pretty damn tasty all the same."

Ed looks at him expectantly, waiting for an answer while Roy stares back at him blankly; he's never in his life had a trick offer to _cook_ for him before. He was relatively sure he knew how the evening was going to go once they got here, but Ed's just veered completely off-script and Roy feels like he's been caught flat-footed. 

Ed, however, misinterprets his hesitation. "If stir fry isn't your thing, I make a mean quiche. I'm pretty sure we have enough eggs, lemme look…" he trails off as he opens the fridge and begins to rummage through the contents. 

"I have no objections to stir fry," Roy says, managing to finally find his voice. "But you don't have to feed me."

"When was the last time you ate?" Ed asks, peering around the open door of the refrigerator. 

Roy pauses, trying to remember. He's only been awake since the early afternoon, but he has no idea whether or not he ate when he got up today. He often forgets to eat if he's not hungry, and he hasn't felt particularly hungry lately. He hasn't really felt much at all. 

"If you have to think about it, it was too long ago, and it's time to eat again," Ed declares. 

"All right," Roy says, his shock slowly fading into amusement. Ed's the one paying for his time, so if Ed wants to spend it cooking for them both, Roy's not going to argue.

Ed starts rattling around the kitchen, pulling out pans and knives and ingredients and setting everything on the bench. 

"Can I do anything to help?" Roy asks. 

Ed waves him away without even looking. "I've got it under control. And besides, you're a guest! I'm not gonna put you to work."

Roy finds this both amusing and perplexing; few people would consider a hooker they've hired to be anything resembling a 'guest'. The dismissal does give him a convenient opportunity to watch Ed as he works, however, so Roy takes advantage of it. Although Ed prefers his left hand, he seems quite willing and able to use the right when he needs to, and its dexterity is impressive. He also crouches down to reach things stored on the lowest shelves, without even a hand on the bench for balance. 

The functionality of the prosthetics is extremely impressive, and he finds himself curious about exactly how they work. Not a conversation he's going to initiate, of course - regardless of how sensitive Ed is to the topic, Roy's here do a job, and he doubts talking about missing limbs is going to get Ed in the right kind of mood. He wonders idly what will get Ed in the mood, and spends the next half an hour alternating between watching Ed and thinking about what sort of tricks he can use to get Ed writhing and begging for more. 

By the time Ed serves the stir fry into bowls and clears room for them at the table, the house smells of the savoury sauce Ed fried the meat in, and Roy has to admit it smells pretty tempting. 

"Would you like a drink?" Ed asks. 

Roy would kill for something alcoholic, preferably neat, but he knows that drinking on the job usually leads to making bad decisions, and he really doesn't need any help in that department. 

"I'll have whatever you're having," Roy says instead. He's expecting something carbonated, but Ed surprises him yet again.

"Juice for me," Ed says, heading back to the fridge. "But there's milk if you'd rather." The shudder in Ed's voice suggests that drinking ditch water would be preferable. 

The set-up is too perfect for Roy to resist. Any other trick and Roy wouldn't bother trying to engage, but he can sense the tentative beginnings of a rapport between them, and Ed's earnestness makes him too tempting a target.

"What's wrong with milk?" Roy asks. "It's good for growing bones." He pauses for effect, and then adds: "Although it rather looks as if yours have given up on the attempt." 

"Hey! No!" Ed exclaims, incensed, "I'm still growing!" 

Roy smirks, having hit the target dead-on. "Perhaps if you drank more milk they'd put more effort into it." 

Ed splutters indignantly, cheeks reddening, obviously working himself up into some kind of rant in response. 

"Juice is fine," Roy says before Ed can let it loose, unable to suppress a grin.

Ed gives him a darkly suspicious look before pouring them both a glass and delivering them to the table, finally collapsing into a chair in an untidy sprawl. Roy takes the seat opposite, so he can watch Ed as they eat, as well as his vision allows. 

Fortunately, when faced with food Ed's ire quickly vanishes, and he dives into his bowl. Roy follows suit more sedately.

As it turns out, Ed's assessment of his own cooking isn't actually hyperbole: the stir fry is quite tasty, and after the first couple of mouthfuls, Roy's body begins reminding him of exactly how hungry he is. He makes an appreciative sound as he swallows, and Ed grins at him, obviously delighted. 

"See! It's good. Mei's just a food snob," Ed declares. 

"Mei is Al's girlfriend?" Roy asks. 

"Yeah," Ed says, in between mouthfuls. "She's all right, I guess. Not really sure what he sees in her. She seems to adore him, at least - but who wouldn't, he's _Al_. He's like, a kitten in human form or something."

Roy is amused by the description, especially considering the size of Al's shoes compared with Ed's - Roy is guessing that he's significantly taller. 

"Mei is from Xing?" Roy asks. 

Ed nods. "Came here to study, Al met her in one of his classes. What about you? I mean, where are you from?" 

"I'm from Central," Roy answers, tone a little flat. He dislikes the the way too many people ask him the question, as if his exotic looks make a lie of his assertion that he's Amestrian, despite having been born here. He's never even been to Xing, doesn't speak the language or know anything of their culture. He never knew his mother long enough to learn. 

To his relief, Ed doesn't seem to see any need to question his nationality. "I figured as much," Ed says, "from the fancy accent. Al and I are country bumpkins, we're from out East. Risembool, if you've ever heard of it."

Roy is amused to hear his accent described as 'fancy', especially considering his background, but if there's one thing Madame Christmas taught him it was how to socialise with the elite as if he'd been born one of them. Her informal elocution lessons over tea (for him) and gin (for her) were a regular part of his week, his accent being gradually 'corrected'. By the time he reached the Academy, he only had to introduce himself and the well-bred young men there simply assumed that he was one of them. 

So he supposes that to a country kid he would sound rather formal. It's a strange juxtaposition, considering their current roles; Ed the one with money and a bright future ahead of him, while Roy has lost everything and returned to the gutters he was born in. He shuts down that line of thinking, knowing it can lead nowhere good.

"I know of Risembool," he answers. "I spent some time in the East." 

"Neat," Ed says. "It's a nice place, but there isn't all that much to do there. Me and Al both knew we wanted to study science when we finished school. We researched every university in the country, but we heard that Central University had the best science department in Amestris, so we moved here."

"That's what I've heard, too," Roy agrees. 

"Where did you study?" 

Roy freezes, and then forces himself to swallow the mouthful he was chewing. Admitting the truth would reveal far more information about him than he had any intention of admitting to a trick he's just met. He knows he could easily lie, come up with something convincing that Ed would have no reason to question. But he finds that he doesn't want to. Ed's been nothing but honest with him so far, and he feels like it would change something between them if he broke that tentative trust, whether Ed was aware of it or not.

"CAA," Roy says finally, knowing that even someone as provincial as Ed will have heard of it. Central Army Academy is well-known throughout Amestris as the only choice for officers who aspire to the upper echelons of the military hierarchy. 

Ed's eyebrows fly up. "You're military?"

"Not any more, obviously," Roy retorts, with more bite in his tone than he had intended. 

Ed stares at him, wide-eyed, obviously aware that he's just stepped on a verbal landmine and not quite sure what to do about it. 

Roy takes pity on him, smoothing things over with the skill he's cultivated since childhood. "I'm sure the Academy did things rather differently than the University, of course. Tell me about your studies, and how you've been finding it so far."

The relief on Ed's face is obvious and Roy wonders what his life has been like, that he's never had to learn to school his expression the way Roy did to survive. 

Once prompted, Ed is more than happy to ramble on about his studies and his experiences at the University to date, and the brief tension which had flared between them quickly dissipates. Ed is an engaging speaker, his enthusiasm contagious, and Roy listens with genuine interest. It helps that he has the background to understand the things Ed's learning, and is able to ask relevant questions that get Ed shooting off on fascinating tangents. 

"What drew you to study science?" Roy asks eventually. "And what about Al - did he choose to follow in your footsteps, or just happen to be interested in the same areas?" 

"Al got into science because he wanted to use it to help people. Me, I thought it'd be kind of like a superpower: if I could understand the fundamental building blocks of the world and how they worked, I figured I could learn to make them do anything I wanted!" Ed snorts - Roy assumes at his childhood naivety. "It didn't work out like that, of course. Understanding matter and energy doesn't give you some kind of magical control; it's not like waving a wand or having a superpower."

Ed is silent and contemplative for a few moments, getting the look Roy is beginning to recognise as the one that means he's about to go veering off on a tangent. When he speaks again, Roy isn't disappointed.

"I mean, as far as superpowers go, matter transformation would be pretty damn cool. But if you're going for flashy it's hard to go past super-strength, and there are definitely a few assholes that I wouldn't mind punching through walls. But if we're talking about _utility_ \- and matter control was off the table - you'd have to go for something like telekinesis or intangibility, maybe teleportation. Something that you could use in all kinds of ways - to rescue people, steal stuff, whatever you wanted." Ed pauses, giving a grateful Roy a moment to catch up; following Ed's mental meanderings feels rather like being aboard a bus taking lefts and rights suddenly and at random, with no actual destination in mind.

"What about you?" Ed asks. "What would you pick?" 

Roy considers the question. 

If you had have asked him when he was Ed's age, Roy probably would have said pyrokinesis. He's always had a fascination with fire, the way the tongues of flame flicker and dance, beautiful and almost supernaturally alive as they consume all they touch. But now, having seen the horrors he's seen and knowing how he'd be forced to use a power of that kind, the idea makes him ill. 

Again he has to force down the mental images and phantom smells of burned and bloody bodies, and give himself a moment for his stomach to stop churning. He tries to breathe through it, keeping his expression bland. 

The thought of the wounded and dying makes him tempted to choose healing. Certainly there was a moment in time where he would have sold his soul for the ability, and would have gone happily to his eternal damnation if it had have saved the man bleeding out in his arms. But now there's nobody he cares enough to save. 

Now… now he thinks he'd go for mind control. He'd take control of the Amestrian Government and make sure that nothing like Ishval could ever happen again. He'd restore Amestris to the country it should have been, without the political aggression and expansion-at-all-costs philosophy that caused decades of territory wars and destroyed an entire race of its people. He'd be a dictator, he knows, but a benevolent one, working for the good of the people. But then, all dictators probably think of themselves as benevolent, he supposes. 

"I don't know," he says finally, unwilling to expose so much of himself by speaking his thoughts aloud. 

Ed accepts this at face-value instead of pushing, for which Roy is grateful. A moment later and Ed's quicksilver mind is off and racing again, this time steering the conversation into the realm of superheroes and comic books. It's been a while since Roy's read anything in the way of comics; a while since he's been able to read anything at all. But he enjoyed comics during his younger years, and finds common ground with Ed over the heroes and villains of a decade ago.

By the time Roy finishes his meal, Ed has long-finished his. Roy finds himself feeling satiated and well-fed for the first time in a long while. The sensation settles on him uneasily, making him feel like it's something he hasn't earned. He reminds himself that it was Ed's choice to feed him: Ed's is in control here, and Roy's being paid to go along with whatever he chooses to do, sex-related or not. 

Roy helps Ed clear the dishes despite Ed trying to wave him away, and then they move back into the lounge. Ed stands awkwardly for a moment, looking at one of the couches, and then abruptly turns on his heel and disappears down the hallway. 

Roy is somewhat nonplussed by his sudden departure, unsure if he's supposed to follow or wait where he is. After a few moments curiosity wins over caution, and he follows the path of Ed's retreat.

He finds Ed in a bathroom, standing at the sink and squeezing toothpaste onto a toothbrush. Ed looks up as Roy appears in the doorway behind him and their eyes meet in the mirror. 

Roy raises a questioning eyebrow. 

"What?" Ed demands defensively, with a somewhat embarrassed scowl. "It's polite to brush your teeth before you kiss someone."

Roy is amused by Ed's defensiveness but genuinely touched by this small display of thoughtfulness, and his smirk softens at the edges. 

Ed pauses with the toothbrush halfway to his mouth, suddenly breaking the eye contact and looking away. "I mean, only if you want to. You don't have to, of course." He pauses for a moment, looking back up to the mirror. "Do you kiss? I mean, your, uh…" Ed stumbles to a halt, obviously unsure what term to use. 

"Clients?" Roy suggests, trying not to smile at the kid's verbal fumbling. 

"Yeah," Ed agrees, obviously relieved by the save. 

Roy contemplates the question for a moment - generally he doesn't kiss, but that has more to do with the acts he's usually performing than any kind of prohibition on his part. It's difficult to kiss with a mouthful of cock, or while he's being hammered from behind. That being said, he certainly has no desire to kiss most of his clients, shuddering to think of that kind of intimacy with those of poor personal hygiene or who get off on the more degrading aspects of his work.

But Ed… Ed, who is brushing his teeth for Roy's benefit, who is forthright and sweet and awkward by turns. He thinks he could kiss Ed. He thinks he might even want to. 

"I kiss," Roy says simply, not daring to say more for fear of what he might reveal. 

Ed's expression brightens, and he shoves the toothbrush in his mouth and begins brushing vigorously, as if concerned that Roy might change his mind. 

"Do you have a spare?" Roy asks. "Fair's fair, after all."

Ed crouches down to rummage in the cupboard under the sink and pulls out a pack of a dozen-odd toothbrushes, only half of which remain. Roy extracts one from the packet and Ed makes room for him at the sink. 

They stand side by side as they brush, and Roy tries to make sense of the picture they present in the mirror: two men, pressed close in the limited space. It's an oddly domestic scene, typical of partners or family members. There's nothing to mark Roy as a whore, or Ed as his trick. 

The pair of them are a study in contrasts. Ed is in the same black shirt and cargo pants as the previous day, his golden hair up in a ponytail, cascading down his back and forward over one shoulder. Roy is taller by nearly a head, wearing plain blue jeans and a grey t-shirt, his arms bare. In the mirror Ed's eyes are golden-bright, while Roy's are so dark a brown they look black. 

Ed spits and rinses, and then makes room for Roy to do the same. When he's done, Roy hands the brush back, and Roy adds it to the little rack where Ed's and his brother's already stand. Roy isn't quite sure how to feel about that, so tries to put it out of his mind. 

They head back through to the lounge, which is when Ed seems to run out of steam, looking unsure of himself for the first time. 

"So, uh. How do we do this?"

"Well, generally, my clients tell me what they want, and I get on with doing it." Roy takes a step towards him, letting his hips tilt a little and offering the knowing smile that gets him the attention of both genders; Roy knows he's good at this particular game. "But if you like, I can make some suggestions. Would you like me to kiss you?" 

"Yeah," Ed says, voice low with want. "Yeah, definitely. I'd like that."

Roy closes the distance between them, until he's standing directly in front of Ed. This close, he can see how richly amber the depths of Ed's eyes are, currently alight with anticipation. 

But he can also sense the tenseness of Ed's body, shoulders as tight as if he were braced for a blow. Ed's obviously nervous and uncertain, but Roy can't discern the cause. Is it because Roy's a stranger? Because he's a man? Because Ed expects something in particular to happen that he doesn't want? 

"Here, let's sit down," Roy says, putting a hand on Ed's shoulder and guiding him towards the couch, nudging Ed to sit when he's close enough and taking a seat beside him when he does. He hopes that the casualness of the position will help Ed relax, with the added bonus of reducing the height difference between them. 

Then he slides a hand around the back Ed's neck and guides him forwards with the lightest of pressure. Their lips meet lightly, slide over each other's, and part again. Roy gives Ed a moment to process, and then moves back in to kiss a little more firmly. 

It takes Ed a few moments to engage fully, and then he's leaning into the kiss, mouth fitting to Roy's, warm and wet and tasting faintly of mint. Ed's left hand reaches to grip Roy's bicep as the kiss deepens. Roy licks at Ed's lower lip, a gentle request, and Ed opens his mouth for Roy to delve inside. 

It's quickly obvious to Roy that while this isn't Ed's first kiss, he's not particularly experienced either. But he's enthusiastic, and willing to follow Roy's lead, and Roy finds himself enjoying a kiss for the first time in too many empty years. He slides an arm around Ed's body to pull him closer, cradling the back of his head with the other hand, silken hair sliding over his fingers. 

Roy breaks the kiss off after a few minutes. "How are you doing?" He asks, wanting to make sure Ed's still on board. His enthusiasm seems genuine and his physical responses indicate he's enjoying the proceedings, but people can be complicated, Roy knows. 

"I'm great!" Ed says fervently. His breathing a little fast and there's a pink flush stretched across both cheeks. 

"Do you want to keep going?" Roy asks. 

Ed nods. "Definitely!" 

Roy smiles and succumbs to the urge to run a thumb over the blush on Ed's cheek. He kisses Ed just once, and then nudges him to lie back, using the arm around him to help guide him down until Ed's reclining along the length of the couch. Roy follows him, shifting until he's lying atop Ed's body. Ed's eyes are wide beneath him, and it takes a few moments before Ed lets his arms come up and fold around Roy's body.

He kisses Ed gently, letting Ed dictate the intensity. Ed shifts beneath him, and Roy can feel Ed's cock, hard against his pelvis. Roy has little doubt that Ed's just as aware of his own erection, pressing into the hollow of Ed's hip. The kisses slowly become more heated as Ed's confidence increases and his arousal builds, and Roy is pleased when Ed gets game enough to slip his tongue into Roy's willing mouth. 

Ed pulls back to gasp a breath, and Roy moves his attentions to Ed's neck, nuzzling and kissing at the soft place beneath his jaw, sucking lightly and then scraping his teeth lightly along the skin. Ed bucks beneath him at that and Roy smirks against his neck. After that Ed can't seem to hold back the little twitches and jerks of his hips. Several times he presses up deliberately and then stills again as if he isn't sure he's allowed to seek his pleasure against Roy's body. 

Roy rolls his hips in response, a deliberate grind, and Ed groans. Roy can't wait to get Ed out of his clothes, to have no barriers between them, nothing but skin against skin. He remembers Ed asking if Roy was willing to fuck as well as be fucked, and his cock twitches just at the thought of sinking into Ed's body. 

"Do you prefer to top or bottom?" Roy asks against Ed's neck. 

There's no immediate response, so Roy pushes up so that he can see Ed's face. "When you're with men," he elaborates. 

Ed's gaze slips off to the side and he reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Well, uh…" 

"You've never tried either?" Roy asks. 

Ed shakes his head. "Not so much, no." 

"What have you tried, with other guys?" 

"I've never really, uh…" Ed trails off with a shrug. "Yknow. Anything, with a guy."

Roy sits up and moves off of Ed's body, knowing that there's a conversation here that needs to be had without distraction. 

Ed follows his lead, sitting up and trying to sweep his hair into some semblance of order, looking at Roy a little warily. 

"I'm the first man you've been with?" Roy asks, gentling his tone. 

"Yeah," Ed admits. He gives an embarrassed sort of smile, and then suddenly looks worried. "Is that a problem?" 

Roy shakes his head. "Of course not, but it's useful for me to know. I don't want to rush you or do anything you're not comfortable with, so we'll just take it a little slower than usual, all right?" 

Ed looks relieved by this. "Yeah, that would be great," he says. 

"And if there's anything you find you don't like, please tell me. There are always plenty of other things we can try."

"I will," Ed promises. He looks as if he wants to say more, so Roy waits patiently.

"Are you into guys?" Ed blurts abruptly.

The question isn't what Roy expected, and throws him slightly. "I'm a male prostitute," he says sardonically, resorting to deflection. "It would be problematic if I wasn't."

"Yeah, but…" Ed shrugs. "It's not like you'd _have_ to be into it to do your job, would it? I mean, if you aren't, uh… the one _doing_ the fucking, then it wouldn't matter if you weren't into it, right?" 

And damn this kid for being one of the insightful ones, for not accepting Roy's prevarication at face value. Roy wonders for a moment what would happen if he said 'no', whether it would make a difference to Ed, whether Ed might halt the evening altogether out of respect for Roy's stated preferences. But Roy has no reason to lie.

"You're right, of course," Roy concedes. "But as it happens I am sexually attracted to men. Why do you ask?" 

Ed fiddles with his sleeve. "I had a girlfriend," he says after a few moments, and Roy realises that Ed's issues might not be limited simply to his inexperience. It would hardly be the first time he's been rambled at by a trick working through their own hangups, though, so Roy settles himself more comfortably as he waits. 

"We practically grew up together," Ed continues, "and just sort of fell into a relationship when we were pretty young. We broke up a bunch of times but we always got back together, until this last time."

"What was different about this last time?" Roy asks.

"She wanted to have sex," Ed says. "And I realised that I didn't. I mean… not with her. I love her, I really do. But I just didn't feel that way about her. When I kissed her, it felt… nice, I guess. But it didn't make me want to do anything more." 

"It didn't turn you on?" 

Ed shakes his head, and then shrugs. "I mean, she sat in my lap and I got hard - but it was a physical thing, y'know? She was rubbing against my dick, it paid attention. But that's all."

"Did you have sex with her?" Roy asks.

Ed shakes his head again, and Roy is oddly relieved, glad that Ed wasn't pressured into doing something he didn't want. "She didn't get why. I'm a teenage guy, I'm supposed to be desperate for it, but I turned her down, even though I was sitting there with a hard-on tenting my pants. She got pretty angry at first, and then she cried." Ed winces a little at the memory. "She thought it was just her I didn't want, but it wasn't. I've never felt that kind of thing about any girl."

"Did you think you might be attracted to other men?" Roy asks.

"Well, at that point, it hadn't really occurred to me. I know that sounds stupid - I mean, how can someone not even know what floats their boat? But the thing is, for most of my life I never really thought about sex at all," Ed says. "I was so busy taking care of Al, making sure we stayed together, trying to fix our bodies, plus studying and working on top of that, that I just didn't have room in my head to think about sex as well. I mean, I jerked off, but it was just a physical thing, I wasn't really thinking about anything in particular. At school the other guys would talk about sex all the freaking time, but I just… didn't. It was only after Winry said she wanted to that I really stopped to think about it."

"What conclusions did you come to when you did?"

"I realised that I just wasn't into girls."

"And?" Roy prompts. 

"And I tried thinking about guys, and that _did_ make me want to do more."

"But you haven't had the opportunity to try it out in practise, as yet?" 

"No."

"So, is that why you hired me, then? To test out your theory, see if it works the same way in reality as it does in your head?" 

Ed doesn't answer for a moment. "Well," he says, looking somewhat abashed but with a hint of a grin, "to be honest, I just saw you and wanted you. I didn't really think about it much further than that. But I guess it works out, right? Means I can try stuff out with a guy and if I don't get into it, it doesn't matter! It's not like having a date that'll be pissed if you realise you're just not into dick halfway through." He pauses and then the grin spreads wider as he reaches down to adjust himself in his pants, erection still obvious. "Not that I think being into it's going to be a problem."

Roy smirks. "I'm flattered to have caught your attention." He's definitely getting the impression that Ed's not really the sort to look before he leaps, jumping into the things with wholehearted enthusiasm, but not always a lot of forethought. In this particular instance, however, it seems to have worked out well for both of them: Ed gets to experiment with his sexuality without the anxiety of trying to please a partner, while Roy gets the easiest night's work he's had in years, and gets to stay warm in the bargain. 

"And you're right, I certainly won't be offended if you choose to stop the experimentation at any point during the evening. You've paid for my time and you get to choose what to do with me, even if you decide to do nothing."

Unexpectedly, Ed's expression twists in a grimace of embarrassment. "You must think I'm a total loser," he says, looking away. "Hiring a hooker to lose my virginity. Like I couldn't get a guy any other way."

"Not at all," Roy says, frowning. "My first time was with an escort, too." The words escape before he can corral them, and Roy curses himself for opening yet another chink in his protective armour of anonymity. He's only ever told that story to one other person, and he certainly hadn't planned on divulging it to a trick he barely knows. 

But Ed's looking at him with sudden hope in his expression, so Roy tries to push the self-recriminations aside and continue. 

"She was kind and gentle with me - she made sure I enjoyed it, as well as teaching me some useful things about how to please a woman."

He didn't mention that it was at the request of his foster mother, who had specifically chosen one of her girls to initiate him, once she decided he was old enough. 

"Really?" Ed stares at him, wide-eyed. "And you don't regret it?" 

"Not at all," Roy says. "Look, Ed. There are a whole range of reasons why you might want to hire a sex worker, and other people have no right to judge you for it. It doesn't mean you're a loser, or that you couldn't find a partner to have sex with if you tried. It just means that you're choosing to take control of the experience in a particular way."

"I guess so," Ed says, not sounding entirely convinced. 

"When you have sex - especially when it's your first time - it should be with someone you feel comfortable with," Roy presses. "And someone you trust to stop if you need them to. If that person is someone you hire, so what?" 

"I feel comfortable with you," Ed says, a touch shyly. "I trust you."

"I'm very glad," Roy says, trying not to let Ed's hesitant, earnest smile get to him, while fearing that he's not entirely successful. 

Roy wants to tell Ed that he has entirely too much faith in people, that it's not safe to trust anyone, particularly someone you know so little about. But he doesn't want to be the one to disillusion the kid, or expose him to the fundamental assholery of humanity. At the same time Roy recognises the hypocrisy of the thought, considering he's broken several of his own rules this evening already because he trusted a kid he'd only just met.

"So you like girls, too?" Ed asks, obviously contemplating Roy's earlier statement. 

"Yes. I'm bisexual." Roy ends up drawn to men more often than women emotionally, but finds women more convenient for casual sex. He used to, anyway - he hasn't had the urge for any kind of sex in a long time. 

Ed seems to digest this silently. "I guess that makes me gay," he says, as if only just coming to the realisation. Roy gets the feeling that Ed's recently-discovered attraction to men is something he still hasn't fully processed.

"Ed, they're just labels - try not to get too hung up on them." Roy reaches out to cup Ed's face in his palm, stroking Ed's cheek with the side of his thumb. Ed tilts his head into the touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before refocusing on Roy's face.

"People like labels to conveniently pigeon-hole others, but not everyone fits neatly into one box or another, or even identifies with the same box from day to day. Don't let other people's labels push you into doing something you don't want, or keep you from doing something you do want."

"I want this. I mean, I want _you_ ," Ed says, no uncertainty in his tone this time. 

"Good. That's the only thing that matters, right now."

"So, does that mean we can keep doing stuff?" Ed asks hopefully, seeming to have shelved his sexuality-related anxieties for the moment. "Like what we were doing just before?" 

"Of course," Roy says, hiding his amusement. "We can do anything you like."

"I liked it when you were on top of me," Ed says, with a mix of embarrassment and defiance. "Kissing me."

"In that case…"

Roy presses Ed back down onto the couch, settling himself between Ed's thighs and covering Ed's body with his own. Ed immediately grabs Roy's hips, pulling him down while pressing up against him, making his desires clear. Roy smirks against Ed's mouth as he kisses him; he's getting the impression that patience isn't one of Ed's stronger suits either. 

Roy accedes to the unspoken demand and grinds his hips against Ed's, setting up a regular rhythm, the pleasure slowly building as their cocks rub together, pressed between their bodies. Ed hooks his flesh hand around Roy's neck, holding him in place as their mouths slide over each other's, heated and wet. Ed's making stuttered moans whenever they break for breath, the sounds going straight to Roy's cock. Ed presses his face against Roy's neck for a moment, overwhelmed, and the warm caress of his exhalation against Roy's skin makes him shiver. 

Being with Ed like this feels good in a way that Roy hasn't felt in a long time. It's completely unlike the sex he has when he's working; he never makes out like this, clothed and messy like desperate teenagers. Usually he's using his skills to drive his target towards orgasm as quickly as possible, or letting them use his body to do the same. His own pleasure just doesn't enter into it. 

But he could come like this, Roy thinks, just from grinding against Ed's body with all of his clothes still on. It's obvious that Ed's already well on his way to the finish post, if the way he's squirming beneath Roy is any indication. But Roy doesn't particularly want to come in his pants, especially when he has to walk home in them. 

What he wants is to slow things down, to undress Ed and explore every inch of his body with fingers and mouth, to show Ed all the different types of pleasure his body can experience. But he knows that Ed doesn't have the patience for that right now. He's practically vibrating with pent-up arousal, desperate to come as quickly as possible. Fortunately Ed's also young, and shouldn't have any issues getting it up for a second round, so there's no harm in getting him off fast right now. 

But Roy's still not coming in his pants. 

Roy sides off Ed and encourages him to turn so that they're both lying on their sides, facing each other. Ed's looking at him inquisitively, impatience held in check for now but lurking not far beneath the surface. 

Roy reaches down between them, undoing Ed's belt and pants by touch alone as he watches Ed's face. He pauses with his fingertips just under the elastic of Ed's boxers. 

"Do you want me to touch you?" Roy asks. 

"Yeah," Ed breathes. "Fuck, yeah!" 

Roy pushes the waistband down, freeing Ed's dick, and wraps a hand around it, taking a long, slow stroke. 

Ed makes a sound halfway between a choke and a gasp, pushing into Roy's hand in an unspoken demand for more. 

Roy obliges, setting up a rhythm, experimenting a little to see what gets a reaction. Some guys prefer firmer pressure down at the root, others like a squeeze over the head on the upstroke. Ed seems to appreciate everything Roy tries, looking half-dazed with pleasure, responsive to every change in Roy's touch. 

"Good?" Roy asks. 

"Oh hell yeah," Ed says breathlessly. "I didn't think it'd feel so different - someone else's hand, I mean. But it's so much better."

Roy smirks, using a few of his tricks to tease Ed and wind him up even further, while Ed grips his arm so tightly his fingers will probably leave marks.

Meanwhile, Roy's own arousal is a low ache in his abdomen, his dick still clamouring for attention. 

Roy releases Ed for a moment, ignoring his small sound of complaint, and quickly undoes his own belt and pants so he can pull himself free. Then he presses forward until his cock is aligned with Ed's and takes them both in his fist, stroking firmly. 

"Oh, fuck," Ed mutters, looking down between them to where the heads of both cocks protrude from Roy's fist on the downstroke. "That is so fucking hot."

"Do you want to come like this?" Roy asks. 

Ed nods quickly. "Yeah, fuck yeah!"

Roy strokes them both firmly and quickly, foregoing any further teasing and simply pushing them both towards orgasm as quickly as possible. Ed is so wound up he can't hold himself still, his hips stuttering forward and back to push himself further into Roy's hand. It makes Ed's dick drag against his own, and Roy moans at the sensation. Soon they're both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, Ed's eyes closed. 

Ed is the first to tip over the edge. He stiffens abruptly with a sharp indrawn breath, and then he groans as his dick pulses in Roy's hand and he starts spurting onto both of their stomachs. Roy eases him through it, slowing as the orgasm tails off. Ed is gorgeously flushed and breathing unsteadily, his good hand still gripping Roy's shoulder. 

Roy takes a few moments to enjoy Ed's dishevelled state before giving in to his cock's throbbing demand for attention, taking himself back in hand and stroking hard and fast. It isn't long before he reaches his own climax, gasping as the pleasure crashes through him. It's been so long since he's jerked off that the rush of sensation and the relief that follows nearly blindsides him. 

Afterwards, they lie tangled together on the couch as they recover.

"That was _fucking awesome_ ," Ed declares. 

Roy can't hold back a snort of amusement, Ed's combination of enthusiasm and inexperience ridiculously appealing. His unbridled delight at a simple hand-job - the tamest trick in Roy's sexual repertoire - is a novelty completely at odds with the the usual reactions of his clients, who barely seem to enjoy the acts they engage in. 

But then, the experience was something out of the ordinary for Roy as well, the intensity startling and unexpected. He can't remember the last time he enjoyed sex. He's certainly never come when he's on the job before, never let himself turn the act into something mutual, or let his own pleasure enter into the equation. There's no denying he enjoyed himself, though, not with the evidence still decorating the front of his t-shirt. 

"It was pretty awesome," Roy agrees, both amused and sincere. 

Roy's hand is now thoroughly sticky, so after a minute he carefully extracts himself from Ed's tangle of limbs, re-fastens his pants with his left hand, and makes his way down the hallway to clean himself up. 

In the bathroom, he stops at the sink and meets his own eyes in the mirror. His hair is in disarray from where Ed's fingers have threaded through it, and his mouth is reddened and kiss-swollen. He's coming down from the high of orgasm and the reality of the situation is starting to intrude in unpleasant ways. His thoughts clamour at him, reminding him how dangerous it is to get attached, to open himself up, to trust in any way, big or small. He should know better, he thinks. He should remember the lessons that were hard-learned. 

"Roy," he mutters to his reflection. "What the hell are you _doing_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still terrified about posting, but people were so lovely with feedback on ch 1, it was incredibly encouraging! Thankyou to everyone who reads, kudos or comments, you're all wonderful!
> 
> My [tumblr](http://thejovianmute.tumblr.com/) is a very random mix of fandoms and interests, but I'm always up for hanging with fellow writers, readers and fans.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is more than one imperfect body, blowjobs are given and received (although not necessarily with equal skill), a nightmare is had, and a toothbrush proves perplexing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, this chapter kind of got away from me. I was originally thinking that around 6k was a good length for chapters - this one is nearly 13k, and it's pretty much just dialogue and smut *headdesk* There'll be actual plot next chapter, I swear! But I wanted to take the time to treat Ed's physical disabilities seriously - hopefully I've done all right in that regard. More focus on Ed than Roy this time, since it was all his PoV, but next chapter will split the focus more evenly.

Ed lies sprawled on the couch, loose-limbed, satiated, and buzzing pleasantly from head to toe. His dick is still hanging out of his pants, his stomach is sticky, and right now he couldn't care less; he's pretty much flying on endorphins. 

Sex is _fucking awesome_. He'd figured it'd feel good - jerking off was pretty satisfying, but it really didn't hold a candle to the act with someone else involved. It had lit up his entire body, having Roy moving against him, the weight of him pressing Ed down. The kissing had been electric, and hearing Roy make noises of pleasure had been just as good as feeling it himself, knowing that Roy was into it too. Ed wants to be more active next time, wants to make Roy come with his own hand or mouth or body, wring even more of those moans and little gasps from him. 

Ed's never really understood why people go to prostitutes when they have a perfectly good hand - and yes, he appreciates the irony of the statement considering what he's done this evening. But now he totally gets it, knows why somebody might be so hungry for the feeling of a warm, solid body against theirs that they'd be willing to pay for the privilege. 

He's reluctant to move, but figures he should probably do something about his state of disarray, and manages to summon just enough energy to put his dick away and push himself upright by the time Roy returns. 

"So what now?" Ed asks.

"Now we relax and recover, until you're ready for another round. Assuming you'd like to go again, of course."

Ed's expression lights up; the idea of going at it again tonight hadn't even occurred to him. But then, he supposes that's the point of hiring a hooker for an entire night: as many orgasms as your body can handle. At the time he'd requested it he'd just been thinking about not wanting to be rushed. He hadn't liked the thought of Roy hurrying through the act just so that he could go back and freeze on that corner again for hours on end. But it turns out Ed's an accidental genius, and orgasms shall be his reward. 

"Hell yes, I want to!" Ed declares. He's already mentally calculating how many times he can be ready to go again over the next few hours. If he gets to keep Roy until morning, he's sure they could go at least three or four times - but he probably wouldn't survive 9am Materials Engineering if he did. He silently curses morning classes and the biological necessity of sleep. 

Roy sits down on the couch beside him. "Next time we should try to make it to an actual bed, though. Much less risk of falling off."

Ed snorts. "Works for me." 

Ed's already mentally marked this impromptu experiment as one hell of a success. Just the idea of being with Roy had sexually aroused him, in the way he could never manage when thinking about girls, and had never quite dared to think about other guys. Actually being with Roy was a hundred times better than just thinking about it. After Winry, a small part of him had wondered if he was broken, if he was even capable of responding sexually to anyone. But he definitely wasn't broken, this evening had proven that. Both body and mind had been set ablaze from the moment Roy first kissed him. 

Admitting to his inexperience had been one of the more embarrassing things he'd ever had to do. But he knew he wasn't going to be able to bluff his way through the act, so it was better that Roy knew upfront. And Roy had been so completely chilled about the whole thing. He hadn't judged Ed for either his virginal state or his hiring of somebody to remedy the the situation. Roy was pretty damn fantastic all round, really - and yeah, Ed was aware that he was developing something of a crush on a hooker, which he can just _hear_ Al telling him is a bad idea. 

But then, he's never been much good at taking Al's advice, which is probably why he's been in trouble so much more often. 

"Anything in particular you wanna do?" Ed asks, suddenly at a bit of a loss as to how to entertain a hooker, especially one like Roy, who has pretty much confounded all of his expectations so far. 

"You don't have to worry about entertaining me," Roy says, as if having read Ed's mind. "How do you usually spend your evenings at home?" 

"Um… studying, mostly. Or debating stuff with Al," Ed says. 

"Let me rephrase the question. How do you usually _relax_ of an evening?" 

"Reading or watching TV, I guess." Ed picks up the TV controller. "You wanna watch something for a bit?" 

"Certainly," Roy says, settling back into his couch seat more comfortably. 

Ed switches the controller to his good hand and turns the TV on, and then flips channels until he comes across something that catches his attention. It looks like a documentary about recent space-related discoveries. 

"This ok?" 

"Sounds fine to me."

Ed turns the volume down low, so that it's more background noise than anything. Then he sets the remote back onto the coffee table, and flops down lengthways on the couch with his head in Roy's lap. He feels Roy stiffen slightly, and realises that lying in someone's lap might not exactly be a normal sort of thing to do. He's so used to Al and Winry and even Ling, who all sprawl wherever there's space regardless of whether somebody's already in it. He thinks he and Al probably started the trend - they've never really had anything resembling personal space when it came to each other. 

Ed's just about to sit up again and make some kind of awkward apology when he feels Roy relax slightly, and one of Roy's arms comes to rest draped over Ed's side. Ed happily takes this as tacit permission to remain where he is and settles himself more comfortably. Roy's lap makes a pretty decent pillow, his thigh warm through the worn denim. 

Ed struggles to focus on the documentary. Usually he's totally into anything that involves astronomy, marvelling at the vast reaches of the universe that humans are only just beginning to understand, but tonight his brain is all over the place. His thoughts keep circling back to Roy's body moving against him, Roy's hand stroking him. He can feel his dick tingling just at the thought of it, and tries to pull his focus back to the television. Even if he is nearly ready to go again, he's pretty sure Roy will need more of a break. 

He feels movement against his chest, and looks down to see that Roy's caught a lock of Ed's ponytail and is running it gently through his fingers. Ed watches Roy caress his hair for a few minutes, and then looks up to Roy's face. Roy's got his head tipped back against the back of the couch, his eyes closed, but something in his expression makes Ed think that he's still paying attention to everything going on around him. Ed knows that hypervigilance is a thing, and that more specifically it's probably one of Roy's things, so Ed takes the fact that he's closed his eyes as a pretty good sign. He must feel at least some level of comfortable, here with Ed. 

Ed can't help wanting to know more about Roy; wanting to know how they're alike, how they differ, and all the things that have made Roy into the person he is now. 

"What was your first time like, with a guy?" Ed wonders aloud. 

"Fumbling, hurried, and awkward," Roy says. He doesn't open his eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "It was with a delivery boy, only a little older than me and just as inexperienced. We went at it up against a wall in the storeroom, hands down each other's pants, trying desperately to stay quiet so that nobody would hear and discover us. Other than being the first appearance of a cock in my life other than my own, it was not a particularly noteworthy experience."

Ed tries to imagine Roy fumbling or being awkward and finds it difficult. He seems so confident and assured, so competent and precise - and, of course, extensively experienced in the sexual arts. Ed knows that everyone was a virgin once upon a time, but still has trouble fitting Roy into the role. 

Roy's hand has moved to Ed's head and is stroking his hair properly now. Ed basks in the feeling like a contented cat. 

"Did you already know? That you were into guys then?"

Roy nods. "I'd been attracted to both girls and boys by that point, so I wasn't in much doubt about it. Not everybody finds it so easy to untangle what they feel, though. Sexuality can be complicated. It can also change, over time."

Ed suspects that Roy's just being kind now; trying to make Ed feel better about taking so long to figure out what the hell was going on in his head.

"You ever been with a guy, and afterwards he realises that guys actually aren't his thing?"

Roy's expression shifts from relaxed to something more controlled, and Ed immediately wishes he could take the question back. He knows that's the face Roy uses to hide things behind. 

"Not exactly. I've had guys who are in deep denial. They suppress that part of themselves, insist that they're straight, until they get desperate enough to come and find someone like me. Afterwards, some of them are so angry that they've 'given in' to their 'loathsome desires' that they take it out on me." Roy's expression stays blank, but there's something brittle in his tone. 

"Do they hurt you?" Ed asks, sitting up abruptly, anger flaring. What kind of assholes take their issues out on someone else like that? 

"I can take care of myself," Roy says, which Ed notes isn't exactly an answer. But Roy continues before Ed can call him on it. "I much prefer the ones like you, though," he says, voice lowering as he runs the backs of his fingers along Ed's jaw; the combination is very distracting. "The ones who are happy to let me show them how good it can feel to be with another man."

The combination of Roy's voice and the statement itself makes Ed shiver in anticipation, already more than half-hard.

"Pretty fucking good, in my experience so far," Ed agrees. 

Roy laughs, and his face seems a little younger and more carefree. Most of the time Roy's smile is more of a calculated smirk, but every so often Ed manages to provoke genuine amusement and it lights up his face. Ed really wants to do it a whole bunch more. 

Roy leans in closer. "And I've only just begun with you," he says, low and suggestive, and Ed's dick is happily demonstrating how recovered it is now, pressing at the front of his trousers. 

"So… d'you think you're ready to go again?" Ed asks hopefully.

Roy draws back to look at him, the edges of amusement still in his expression. "It doesn't matter about me. If you're ready to go again, then we can."

Something inside Ed sparks angrily at the way that Roy so casually dismisses both himself and the relevance of his own enjoyment. Ed wants to know who the fuck made Roy believe he was worth less than everyone else - and then he wants to punch them, hard. He tries to rein in his anger and focus on the issue at hand. 

"But I want you to, y'know, get off too," Ed protests.

Roy pauses for a moment, and Ed's already learned that that means he's thinking carefully about how to word whatever he's about to say next. Ed's realised that it's not just Roy's accent that makes him sound kind of posh, it's that he's so very precise about everything he says. Ed's starting to suspect that Roy's so careful about how he words things to make sure he doesn't let anything of himself accidentally slip.

During their meal Ed had quickly noticed how guarded Roy was; he'd neatly evaded most of the questions that Ed had asked him about himself, and then had somehow managed to turn them around to get Ed rambling about himself again instead. The few times Roy had revealed personal things about himself, there'd been a sort of stiff, awkward look about him, as if he was very much out of practice at it.

It's sort of the opposite to how Ed works - Ed pretty much blurts out anything that crosses his mind, personal or not. Al never seems to mind, but other people haven't been so forgiving; more than once he's been told that he has no brain-mouth filter. It's not true, he does - he just doesn't bother engaging it most of the time. Ed figures if people can't deal with him the way he is, then they're not worth knowing anyway. 

"This isn't about me, Ed," Roy says eventually, tone gentle, as if explaining to a child. "This evening is about you. I'm here to make sure you enjoy yourself."

Ed contemplates this, tries to figure out how to get Roy to consider himself just as much of a priority as Ed. "But I get to choose what I enjoy, right?" 

"Of course."

"What if I enjoy _you_ enjoying yourself?"

Roy looks at him with a combination of fondness and exasperation, an expression Ed's intimately familiar with, since he sees it on Al's face pretty regularly. 

"Ed," Roy says, speaking even more carefully than he was before. "I know you're new to this, so you don't really have any context for our activities this evening. But what we did earlier, that's not the sort of thing I normally do."

"It isn't?" Ed frowns, confused. He was under the impression that hookers got paid to have sex with people. Isn't that what they'd done? Did it not count as real sex unless you actually stuck a cock in someone? "What do you normally do, then?"

"Normally the men who hire me just want to get sucked, or want to fuck. They don't want to _make out_. And I don't usually… participate. I mean..." Roy hesitates.

"You mean, you don't usually get to come?" Ed asks, indignant. He figures, sure, the guys are paying for it, so it's only fair that they get off - but it seems to Ed like a kind of an asshole thing to do to completely ignore your partner's dick, whether money's involved or not. 

Roy shrugs, glancing away, and an expression flickers across his face that Ed doesn't quite catch. "I don't generally want to," he says. A moment later he looks back at Ed, and his expression is once again pleasantly neutral, a perfect mask. "So it isn't a problem."

"Did you not want to, with me?" Ed asks, suddenly concerned that he might have pushed Roy into doing something he hadn't wanted to. The idea makes him feel vaguely sick.

"Actually, I did. That's the part that was most unusual." 

Ed digests the implications of this, and a tentative smile spreads across his face. "So… that means you're kind of into me?" 

Roy looks slightly pained. "That's not how I would have expressed it, but the sentiment isn't entirely inaccurate."

"You _are_ into me!" Ed crows in delight. 

Roy rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of a smile there as well. "I'm attracted to you, yes, but that's rather beside the point. I just don't want you to get the wrong idea, and think that it will be like this if you hire another escort. It's just that this is your first time, so I wanted to make it good for you - and I confess that I got a little carried away."

Ed can't quite suppress his grin, the idea of Roy being attracted to him still buzzing about his brain. Ed's never really thought of himself as attractive before. He knows he was a cute enough kid, but as he got older the guy he saw in the mirror just looked short, round-faced, and not really anything special. When Ed and Al are together, it's always Al that gets the admiring glances and second looks. 

Ed also doesn't think Roy's concern will turn out to be a problem, since he's not planning on hiring any other hookers - he rather likes the one he has. Not that he _has_ Roy, of course - not for longer than tonight, and it's always possible that Roy's a jerk and Ed's just been fooled by his charming act. But he doesn't think that's the case; he thinks Roy really is something special, something different. Ed's not always the best with people, but he has a sort of sixth sense about them sometimes. When his gut tells him not to trust someone, he doesn't. And when it tells him they're worth knowing, he's prepared to take a chance. So far, indications have all pointed to Roy being worth the risk. 

"Ok, I understand," Ed says. "I won't expect the royal treatment every time." He grins a little self-deprecatingly, and Roy seems to relax just a fraction. "But technically it's my first time at everything, so if we were to try something different for this next round, I could still get the newbie special, right? And that means you'd be up for participating and maybe getting carried away again?" Ed asks hopefully. 

Roy stares at him, the fondness/exasperation combo making a comeback. "You're very persistent," he says. 

"Most people just say 'pigheaded'," Ed replies cheerfully. 

Roy tries to smother a smirk but doesn't quite manage. "Really?" He says dryly. "I can't imagine why."

Ed grins in return. He likes to think of it as 'determined', and a virtue rather than flaw. It's pretty much all that got him through the most difficult years of his life, so he can't regret that it's such a fundamental part of his personality. He knows what he wants, and he goes after it full steam ahead.

Roy contemplates the request for a few moments. Ed finds it hard to read his expression; the slight furrow in his brow suggests that he's conflicted, but Ed doesn't understand why. Why would he object to having fun and getting off when he actually wants to? 

"All right," Roy concedes eventually. "I suppose that we can continue in the same vein that we began, for this evening." 

Ed grins even more widely, if it were possible. "So does that mean we can go and have more sex now?"

Roy smiles at him in return, amusement evident. "Yes, that means we can go and have more sex now."

"Bed this time, right?" Ed asks, standing and waiting for Roy to follow suit. 

"Yes. Most definitely." Roy stands and rolls his shoulders, stretching out stiff muscles.

Ed pauses, looking deliberately contemplative. "We should both fit in a bunk bed, right? Al and I share. I have the top bunk - you're ok with heights, right?"

The dawning horror in Roy's expression is priceless.

"Just kidding," Ed smirks. "I have a double."

Roy gives him an unimpressed look, and Ed just smirks more widely. 

Separate rooms were a requirement that both he and Al had agreed on when they'd been looking for a place. Much as they'd enjoyed the closeness of sharing a room throughout most of their childhood and teen years, they'd both decided that once they were old enough to be interested in more adult pursuits, they needed their own space. When Mei came along, Ed was particularly grateful for the decision. He'd be even more grateful if the walls were a little more soundproof; there are some things he really doesn't need to know about his brother.

Ed leads Roy to his bedroom, and flips on the bedside lamp. The room is in its usual state of disarray. There are books and papers piled up everywhere, but at least he doesn't have dirty underwear lying around on the floor or anything. The bed is indeed a double, and Ed hadn't so much 'made' it that morning as thrown the covers in the rough direction of the bed and been happy when they'd covered more than two thirds of the mattress below.

Roy pauses in the doorway and scans the room, paying particular attention to the corners and and exits - another habit of Roy's that Ed's noticed, and he can guess where that one came from. Ed figures it's gotta be hard to unlearn habits when they were all that kept you alive in a warzone. 

Once he seems satisfied that there's nothing untoward lurking in Ed's room, Roy makes his way to the bed, sitting down gingerly on the edge. Ed takes a seat beside him, pushing himself further onto the bed and pulling his legs up, wondering whether he should start things off this time or wait for Roy to do something.

"If we're going to continue your sexual education," Roy says, "then possibly we should also attempt to make it out of our clothes this time."

Ed freezes. Somehow he'd totally forgotten that nakedness would be the next logical step in the escalation of sexual activity. His mouth feels suddenly dry, and he can feel the dull thudding of his heart inside his chest. He'd thought that he could do this, that he was ready for it, but now the moment's here he realises that he really isn't prepared at all to expose himself to a guy he hardly knows.

"Ed," Roy says gently. "You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. If you want to keep your clothes on, there are still plenty of things we can do." He pauses, and then continues with an odd note to his voice: "I don't know if this will change anything, but there's something I want to show you."

Roy pulls his t-shirt up over his head and tosses it on the floor, and then turns to face Ed fully, giving Ed the opportunity to look at him. Roy's bare chest is as gorgeous as Ed expected it to be, smooth and flat with neat, dusky nipples, but he only has a moment to appreciate it before his eyes are automatically drawn to the mess of scar tissue on one side of Roy's stomach. It covers the lower ribs on that side and disappears behind his back. Ed knows enough to recognise a burn scar when he sees it - the pattern of mottled pink and white ridges are distinctive. It's a large area, too big for Ed to cover with both hands even with his fingers spread.

Ed jerks his eyes up to Roy's face to find Roy watching him, expression wary.

Ed's first instinct is to ask 'what the fuck happened?'; Ed's known for his curiosity, not his tact. But he hates receiving that particular question himself, so he bites down on the urge until it abates. Besides which, he can take a pretty good guess. Roy was military, and Ed figures that he's mid to late twenties, so there's a good chance he served in Ishval. Ed can only imagine how many soldiers came home from that hellhole decorated with shrapnel, bullet and burn wounds. Guerilla warfare is a vicious business, and the Ishvalan rebels were known for their tenacity and ingenuity.

"Will it be a problem?" Roy asks, and Ed hears the echo of his own question to Roy, hours earlier.

"No," Ed says immediately, startled to find his voice hoarse. "Not for me."

Roy relaxes slightly, the corners of his mouth softening. His eyes are filled with an understanding that Ed isn't used to from anyone else but Al, and Ed's flooded with an emotion he hardly knows how to name. The look is one of kinship, Ed realises; the empathy of sharing past suffering and present scars. Ed's gaze drops back down to the burn, imagining how extensive the damage must have been at the time and how lucky Roy must have been to survive it. 

"Does it hurt?"

"Not any more."

Ed's hand inches forward without conscious thought, but he pulls it back abruptly as he realises what he's doing. 

"Go ahead," Roy says. "Touch if you'd like." His expression is serious, but somehow more open than it has been for most of the night, as if Roy's temporarily discarded the mask along with his shirt. Ed can see how vulnerable Roy's making himself by exposing his body like this, and the idea that he's doing it for Ed - to make Ed feel more comfortable about his own busted-up body - makes something in his chest feel warm and light. 

Ed reaches out tentatively until his fingertips meet flesh. The muscles in Roy's side twitch just a little at the brush of contact, but he holds himself still as Ed's fingers run over the faint ridges and valleys of the burn. The skin is warm but taut beneath his hand, smooth between the roughness of the gnarls. 

Roy waits patiently until Ed finishes his exploration. 

"Thanks," Ed says, hoping that Roy will understand what he's thanking him for. 

Roy nods acknowledgement. "You don't have to take anything off if you don't want to. Clothes or limbs," Roy adds wryly. "Do whatever you're comfortable with. Whatever you chose, you're safe with me."

Ed somehow understands that Roy isn't talking about his physical safety; physically Ed's as tough as nails and there isn't much he can't weather in regards to pain. But emotionally, Ed knows that he's vulnerable. Sure, he always acts like he doesn't give a shit about how people react to his disabilities, but somehow the looks and comments manage to worm their way under his skin more often than not. And he understands that that's what Roy is promising: not to treat Ed in a way that might bruise the tender parts of him that still haven't quite come to terms with the damage done to his body and appearance.

Perhaps that's what gets Ed's hands moving. He slowly unbuttons his shirt, hesitates for a moment, then twists his good arm to withdraw it from the sleeve before tugging it down his other. He has a sleeveless undershirt beneath, but it still exposes the mass of scarring around his shoulder and what remains of his upper arm above the cuff of the prosthesis. It's the first time that Ed's undressed in front of anybody other than family or medical professionals, and it makes his stomach tighten with unpleasant anticipation. Before he can regret his decision, he grabs the collar of the undershirt and pulls it over his head, baring his upper half completely.

Roy doesn't humour him by pretending not to look. He looks deliberately, running his eyes over the the socket Ed's stump is seated in, the rig that fits over his shoulder, the strap across his chest that holds it all in place. He sees the angry scars that extend from beneath the edges of the prosthesis, hinting at the extent of the damage beneath. Roy carefully takes in all the details before looking back up to Ed's face and giving another nod of acknowledgement. There's no judgement in his expression, no horror or revulsion, no pity or embarrassment. It's the expression of one survivor recognising another.

Ed's stomach muscles unclench abruptly and he slumps forward, all of the tension in his body dissipating at once. Roy's hands fly out towards him, as if ready to catch Ed if he collapses completely. It hadn't been his intention, but it gives Ed an opening; he gives into his impulsiveness and throws himself at Roy's chest, the sudden urge to be close to him overwhelming. Roy grunts slightly at the unexpected weight crashing against him, but his arms immediately wrap around Ed's body tightly, even as Ed's fold around Roy's waist.

They sit there together quietly, Roy's hand sliding slowly up and down his back, soothing and comforting. Ed lets the gesture ease the last of the tension out of his body, relaxing against Roy's chest. As both mind and body calm, he slowly becomes more aware of the intimacy of the position they're now in.

Roy's body is warm, and the feel of bare skin pressed against his sends a shiver of pleasure through him. Ed's not exactly touch-starved, not with touchy-feely Al hugging him on a regular basis, but something in him has hungered for touch like this. Bare skin on skin, a solid body against his. Ed rests his cheek on Roy's shoulder, nose pressed to Roy's neck, breathing in his scent. It's warm and musky, undeniably masculine.

Ed draws back, wanting to see Roy's face, and Roy immediately loosens his arms. Ed is struck with the urge to kiss him, but hesitates, suddenly unsure of himself. Roy smiles, sliding his hand up to Ed's neck to tug him closer and kiss him. The kiss is soft and warm, both a sweet relief and at the same time a fan to the embers of arousal that had been banked while they'd learned each other's bodies. 

Roy draws back, putting a hand on Ed's forearm to make sure he has his attention.

"Before we continue, I need to know what you're comfortable with," Roy says. "Do you want me to avoid touching your arm?" 

Ed looks down at the artificial limb; the dark carbon fibre shell over the metal joints and frame beneath. It's not something he's ever been ashamed of, or wanted to hide for reasons other than to avoid the social awkwardness that inevitably ensues. But it's not something that other people commonly interact with, either - other than Al, who Ed has pretty much no barriers against.

"I don't mind," Ed says, and realises he's telling the truth. "You can touch it if you want." He holds his arm out in front of himself, offering it up for Roy's examination. Fair's fair, after all. 

Roy reaches out and takes the artificial hand as gently as if it were Ed's real one. He touches the fingers and palm with care, examining the soft rubber pads of the fingers, inspecting the joints, rubbing his thumb over Ed's forearm to feel the texture of it. Ed watches, the gestures oddly intimate - he can't feel the places Roy's touching, but it's still _his hand_ that Roy's practically caressing. 

"What kind of feedback do you get from it?" Roy asks. "I'm assuming it's hooked into the peripheral nerves at the upper arm or shoulder?"

"Nothing haptic," Ed replies. "It reads the electrical impulses sent to the muscle groups of my shoulder and arm but only communicates one-way; there's no sensory feedback or proprioception. Just pressure on the stump from any resistance - but I've learned to read that pretty well."

Roy nods as if he follows Ed's explanation, and Ed figures that if he understands enough about how the limb works to ask the question then he undoubtedly does. It's not the first time Ed's gotten hints of the startling intelligence that Roy keeps hidden behind his politely charming facade. 

Not for the first time Ed wonders how the fuck Roy ended up on a street corner, when he has both a brain and an education. It likely has something to do with his military service - or the reason he's no longer serving - But Ed knows Roy well enough by now to know that a direct inquiry would be neither appreciated nor answered. 

"It's impressive, the way you use it," Roy says. "The precision with which you can grasp things, considering the lack of sensation."

From most people that kind of comment feels like condescension and makes Ed bristle. But Ed knows that Roy's coming from a place of understanding, and the sincerity is clear in his tone, so he takes it in the spirit it was intended.

"Thanks. Docs were surprised at how fast I learned to use it, but I was a motivated kid," Ed says with a touch of pride. 

"I'm not in the least surprised," Roy says, with a hint of a smile.

"Do you mind if I touch you with it?" Ed asks. "I mean, I'm not gonna go grabbing your dick with it or anything, but sometimes people are weirded out by it touching bare skin at all."

Roy gently turns Ed's wrist and presses the palm of Ed's prosthetic hand against his own bare chest, Ed's fingers splayed out over his heart. "No, I don't mind at all."

He releases Ed's hand and Ed takes over control to hold it there, pressed gently against Roy's body. The arm's not quite sensitive enough to transmit the faint pulse of Roy's heartbeat, but Ed can feel the faint draw and release of Roy's lungs as he breathes, transmitted to his shoulder through the metal frame connecting them. 

Eventually Ed relaxes his arm, both of them watching Ed's hand as he trails the soft pads of the fingers down Roy's chest and stomach, before drawing his hand back into his own lap. Haptic feedback would be extremely useful, of course, but this is the first time he's wished for it purely for his own sensory pleasure.

"Would you be more comfortable taking it off?" Roy asks. 

Ed contemplates for a moment - as always, it's a comfort versus utility question. Sure, he'd be more comfortable without the arm and leg, but he'd also be a lot more limited in terms of what he could do. He couldn't hold himself up and touch Roy at the same time, or go down onto his hands and knees. Balance in general is harder when he only has two anchor points instead of four. He's not quite sure what Roy has in mind for round two, so figures he should keep his options open.

"I'll keep them on, for now - just makes things easier. I take them off to sleep, though."

"All right," Roy says agreeably. "What about pants? On or off?" 

Ed hesitates for a moment, but he's come this far already, so he might as well keep going. Roy isn't likely to react any differently to his leg than his arm. "Off."

Ed undoes the fastenings of his pants and pushes them down, taking his boxers along with them. He feels a little self-conscious about stripping; he always has to alternately push and pull to get his pants off due to the bend limitations of the artificial knee, and it ends up being a lot more awkward than sexy. But Roy doesn't seem to notice, being busy following Ed's lead: shimmying out of his own jeans and underwear and tugging off his socks, leaving him gloriously naked. The sight is enough to distract Ed from his own state of undress. 

Ed looks Roy up and down again, this time without getting diverted by the burn on Roy's stomach. Roy's on the thin side, but there's still evidence of the definition he must have once had in his chest and arms. Aside from the burn, there are other smaller scars scattered here and there over his skin, silvery-white with age. 

Ed's never had a chance to look at another guy's body like this before - being able to look openly and appreciatively is something of a revelation. He's also never seen an adult guy with this much skin bared before. All of Roy is gorgeous; the lengths of his thighs and calves, his slim hips, his flat chest, the curves of his shoulders, his long, tapered fingers. But Ed can't help but find his gaze drawn to Roy's dick. He's not quite fully erect, his foreskin just barely covering the lowest part of the glans. Ed's never been allowed to look at another guy's dick before, and he takes the opportunity to drink his fill. 

Meanwhile, Roy's been looking up and down the length of Ed's body in return, taking in every part of him. 

"You're gorgeous," Roy says softly, almost with reverence. 

Ed scowls. His body is a mangled mess, half of him metal and plastic, and even if he were whole he wouldn't exactly have a body worth admiring. Not like Al, with his tall, graceful form. Ed's more than aware that he's short and a little rough in comparison. 

"You don't believe me?" Roy asks. 

"Look in the mirror some time if you want to see gorgeous," Ed says, a touch acerbically. "There are lots of words for what I am but that isn't one of them."

Roy frowns at him. "I'm not trying to flatter you, Ed. I don't say things I don't mean. You don't have to be physically perfect to be beautiful." He gestures to the burn down his side, his own imperfection. "Do you believe this makes me ugly?" 

"It's not the same."

"Why not? If you still find me attractive despite this, then please believe that I find you appealing just as you are." Roy's expression softens. "Ed, who you are shines so vividly and so brightly that you'd be beautiful no matter what you looked like. The fact that I also happen to find your body attractive is just icing on the cake."

Ed can feel the blush working its way across his cheeks, too flustered by Roy's words to mount a coherent argument. "Shut up and get over here and kiss me," he demands instead.

"Anything you want," Roy replies, low and suggestive, and Ed's pretty sure his face is now on fire.

Roy presses in close, slides an arm around Ed's waist, and then they're kissing again. Ed locks his right arm around Roy's body and lets his left wander over Roy's skin, following the curves of the muscles beneath; over his shoulder and down his back, to the hollow above his tailbone and then back up again. Skin beneath his palm, unhindered by cloth, feels amazing. He runs his hand all the way up into Roy's hair this time, the soft strands parting easily for his fingers. Roy tips his head forwards, eyelids lowering appreciatively as Ed drags his fingernails along Roy's scalp. 

Ed wants to try taking control this time, instead of letting Roy run the show. He presses his hand to Roy's shoulder. "Lie back." It comes out more tentative than he would have liked, sounding more like a question than an order, but Roy immediately pushes himself further onto the bed and then lowers himself back until he's lying flat, looking up at Ed expectantly. 

Ed pushes himself up onto his knees and then throws his good leg over Roy's, lowering himself until he's sitting across Roy's thighs. He tilts his hips forward until his dick is lying alongside Roy's, both of them nestled together on a bed of Roy's dark, wiry curls. There's a narrow trail that runs from Roy's pubic hair to his bellybutton, and Ed runs a finger along it, delighting in both the look and the feel. Ed's hair is so fine and blond that his own trail is all but invisible. 

Ed's hips twitch, rubbing the head of his dick against Roy's abdomen, it feels good so he does it again more deliberately. There's not nearly enough friction to be satisfying though, so Ed wraps his hand around both cocks, taking his cue from Roy's previous performance. His fingers can't quite close around both together, but he can encompass them well enough to provide decent pressure from both sides. He strokes experimentally, a slow up and down. It feels a lot like when he jacks himself off, but the sensation and heat of Roy's dick pressed against his makes it twice as good.

"Mmmm," Roy murmurs appreciatively. 

Ed leans forward, arching his back so he can kiss Roy and still have enough room to work both their cocks. The feeling is pretty damn awesome, even if he has to work to coordinate both hand and mouth. Roy's kisses really are a thing of wonder. While Ed's enthusiastic and hungry, Roy's skill is what gets sparks running down his spine direct to his groin; Roy's teeth dragging across his lip, tongue following in their wake. 

Roy's arms come up around him, pulling him down until their chests are pressed together and Ed can no longer move his hand. He pulls it out from between them, sliding it around Roy's ribs instead, and then rolls his hips like he remembers Roy doing when Roy was on top of him. The stimulation drags a moan from him; it's not just the friction against his dick, but the feeling of his skin dragging against Roy's, all the way down his front. 

Roy's hands move to his hips, guiding and encouraging him as he sets up a slow, regular grind. Roy's hair is spread out on the pillow like a dark halo of tangled black silk, and when Ed drops his face to Roy's shoulder it tickles his forehead and cheek. 

Ed can feel Roy shift beneath him, and then Roy's legs are drawing up to bracket Ed's sides and wrap around his waist. Ed reacts to the position instinctively and he thrusts harder against Roy's body, starting to pant now, pleasure rolling through him as he gets lost in sensations his body is being flooded with. He realises abruptly that if he moved a little lower, he'd be in a position to thrust _into_ Roy's body instead of against it, and a shudder of _want_ crashes through him. 

Ed fights to slow down and get a grip on himself, feeling the threads of his control slipping through his fingers. 

"You all right?" Roy asks, his steady hands sliding up and down Ed's back, soothing and grounding him. 

"Yeah," Ed says, voice rough. "It's just a lot, y'know?" 

The statement isn't particularly informative but Roy seems to understand anyway. 

"I know," he murmurs. "But it's all right, I've got you." Roy's arms tighten around him, and Roy presses his temple to Ed's. 

The next thing Ed knows, Roy's managed to get some kind of leverage and Ed's being casually flipped, finding himself flat on his back with Roy above him, looking smug.

"Nice move," Ed allows.

Roy's weight across Ed's pelvis is both calming and arousing. While Ed had enjoyed his period of being on top, he's sort of glad that Roy's taken back control. 

"Would you like to me to go down on you?" Roy asks. 

Ed's not sure how anyone in their right mind could turn that particular offer down, not with Roy's ridiculously sexy mouth smirking at them with the unspoken promise of what those lips can do.

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds pretty damn awesome," Ed says. 

Roy pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, dropping his head to kiss Ed briefly, and then moves down to his neck, nibbling and licking and sucking. The sensations shiver through him; it's almost like being tickled, but without the cringe-away factor. Instead, Ed wants to push into Roy's mouth, wants him to do more of whatever he's doing.

Roy moves down further, running his tongue along one of Ed's collarbones and then the other, before returning to the hollow between them. His breath on the damp skin makes Ed shiver. Roy starts to move lower again and Ed tenses. The strap of Ed's shoulder harness crosses Ed's chest between his nipples and collarbones, and he can't help but be hyperaware of it, wary that it could derail Roy's progress in some way.

But Roy doesn't even pause or acknowledge it, even as he works his way down past it. His hands are gripping Ed's arms just above the elbows; he can sense it on one side, but only see it on the other. Roy had given him an implicit promise that he'd treat Ed's prostheses just the same as the rest of him, but Ed hadn't been entirely convinced that he would - or even that anyone _could_. But so far Roy's kept his word.

Ed jolts, a small burst of pleasure jerking his attention back into his own body, and he looks down to see Roy sucking on one of his nipples. It's a nice sensation, but watching Roy's tongue slide out to lick over the tip is particularly hot, especially when Roy flicks a glance up at Ed through his eyelashes as he does it. Roy moves to the other side, sucks again, and then gently presses the nipple between his teeth. Ed jerks at the sensation, and Roy's hands curve around his ribs to hold him flat against the bed.

Roy continues down Ed's body, moving backwards on his knees, kissing and licking a trail down Ed's abs to the indentation of his bellybutton. When he's far enough down, he nudges his knee between Ed's thighs, parting them, and then presses the other knee in beside it. 

"How wide can you comfortably spread your legs?" Roy asks, obviously concerned about the prosthetic hindering Ed's movement. 

But the thigh socket doesn't impinge upon his hip joint, and flexibility is a regular part of Ed's physio routine. He smirks as he demonstrates exactly how flexible he is, spreading his legs wide.

"All right then, that won't be a problem," Roy says with a definite hint of admiration. He looks Ed up and down again, sliding his hands up the backs of Ed's thighs, Ed losing the sensation on one side as he progresses from flesh to carbon fibre. "You really are gorgeous," Roy murmurs. 

And then Roy folds down and runs his tongue from the base of Ed's dick up to the head, and Ed makes a startled sound of pleasure. The soft wet rasp of Roy's tongue is unlike anything he's felt before. Roy runs his tongue around the head - just under the ridge of the glans, paying particular attention to the frenulum - and then takes the entire thing into his mouth, sucking firmly. 

Ed cries out at the tight wet heat of it, clenching every muscle in his abdomen to heighten the sensation, his legs drawing further apart automatically. His hand flies to the back of Roy's head, wanting more, but he forces himself to pull it away. Fortunately, Roy gives him exactly what he's craving, sliding down further and then back up, setting up a steady pace as he gets progressively deeper, until his nose is practically buried in Ed's golden curls.

The feeling of Roy's mouth sliding over him is fucking amazing; firm, slick heat dragging up and down his length. But it's not just the sensations that are blowing his mind, it's looking down the length of his body and seeing Roy between his legs, his lips stretched around Ed's dick as it disappears into his mouth. It's a sight that Ed is utterly unprepared for, to see someone giving him pleasure in such an intimate way.

And Roy is _really_ good at it. Ed figures blow jobs are pretty great in general, but has little doubt that Roy's skills are currently setting the bar pretty fucking high. Roy's tongue does amazing things when he draws up, and when he sinks down again Roy somehow tightens his throat around him. Roy's palm slides over Ed's abdomen, his nails scratching a trail in the opposite direction before Roy's hand slides down between his legs to play with his balls. The next thing he knows Roy is _humming_ , the vibration dragging a groan from him as he fights not to push further up into Roy's mouth.

It's all so overwhelming that Ed can barely separate the different sensations; the pleasure swirling through him pushing him inexorably towards the edge, even though he wants to make it last longer, to enjoy this for as long as possible.

"Roy, I can't-- I'm gonna-- fuck!" Ed can't seem to scrounge enough in the way of wits to get an actual sentence out, and then it's too late because his orgasm hits and sweeps any semblance of coherency away. Roy works him through it, not even seeming to stop for breath. Ed can _feel_ him swallow as Ed pulses into his mouth, and fuck if that isn't the cherry on top. 

"Holy fucking hell…" Ed says, flat on his back and staring unseeing at the ceiling as the last little shudders of pleasure run through him, his heart still racing.

"I take it you enjoyed that?"

"I really don't think 'enjoy' is a strong enough word for how fucking amazing that felt."

Ed feels Roy shift and move up the bed alongside him. He tips his head sideways to find Roy looking justifiably smug. Roy's lips are still shiny and slick, which is ridiculously hot in combination with knowing where they've just been.

It takes Ed's brain a little while to come back online and remind him that only one of them's got off so far this round. He rolls onto his side so he can see Roy better, propping his head up on his hand.

"So, can I return the favour?" Ed asks.

"That's really not necessary," Roy replies, obviously attempting to deflect. "I'm just glad you enjoyed yourself."

"I know it's not," Ed retorts, not about to let Roy brush him off. "I'm not offering because I have to, I'm offering because I want to."

Roy still hesitates. 

Ed is confused, not understanding the cause of Roy's conflict. "I won't if you don't want me to. I really don't wanna do anything if you're not into it." He reaches out to stroke Roy's arm, feeling kind of awkward but wanting to do something to try and soothe whatever anxieties are twisting Roy up inside. 

"But if you think I'm just offering because I feel obligated, you're wrong. I wanna try it. It looks fun! And I wanna make you feel as good as you made me feel." Ed attempts an encouraging smile. "Besides which, it's my first time and I'm probably gonna suck at it, so I'd rather it was with someone who won't make fun of me if I screw up."

Roy looks down at Ed's hand on his arm and then up to his face. "You have no idea how unusual you are, do you?" Roy says, his expression unreadable. 

Ed snorts. "Sure I do. People tell me I'm weird all the time!" 

Roy smiles, one of the genuine ones, and Ed's not quite sure what he said to provoke it, but he isn't going to complain that Roy's looking happier. 

"All right," Roy concedes. "If you're sure it's what you want, I'm at your disposal."

Roy shifts so that he can stretch out on his back, exposing himself to Ed's more-than-willing hands and mouth. 

Ed lays down beside him, trying to remember how Roy had gone about the whole thing. He starts by pressing his lips to Roy's neck, kissing along the tendon, and Roy tilts his head away, giving Ed better access. When he gets to the base of Roy's neck, he opens his mouth and sucks gently. 

"Harder," Roy says. "You can mark me if you want."

Ed follows Roy's instruction, sealing his mouth against the salty skin and sucking firmly. Roy makes a low groan, his arm sliding around Ed's ribs to pull Ed more tightly against him, and Ed feels pretty buzzed to have got such a positive reaction. When he pulls away, there's a red mark on Roy's pale skin. Ed looks at it, feeling oddly pleased; he sort of likes the idea of having left a visible mark on Roy, evidence of the pleasure they've shared together.

He keeps working his way down, past Roy's collarbones to his bare, smooth chest, and then he's sucking one of Roy's nipples into his mouth, running his tongue around the little nub. Roy makes a soft sound of appreciation, so Ed sucks harder, and it turns into a moan. He switches to the other side, plays with the other nipple with his tongue a little before sucking firmly, and Roy makes another lovely sound. 

It's heady, knowing that he's bringing Roy this kind of pleasure; he's pretty sure Roy's not the sort to fake it. It's a kind of power Ed's never felt before, but already he wants more of it. He wants to make Roy arch and twitch, to pant and cry out as he comes. Ed's body has never felt particularly useful - beyond being the thing that lets him move around and actually do things - but in one night he's learned both how fucking amazing it can feel, and how he can use it to make someone else feel as good. 

When he's finished amusing himself with Roy's nipples, leaving them shiny and wet and pebbled, he keeps moving down Roy's ribs. 

"It'll be easier from between my legs," Roy suggests, spreading his knees to make a space between them. 

Ed considers Roy's cock, considers the angles, and decides that it will indeed be easier from front-on than from the side. He moves carefully over Roy's leg, making sure not to catch it with the leg he can't feel, until he's kneeling between Roy's thighs. 

"Like this?" Ed asks, to be sure. 

"Move back a little and you won't have to hunch so much."

Ed realises this is also true, and shuffles back a little. He bends down to press a kiss to Roy's midriff, just below his navel, nosing the light trail of hair appreciatively. Then he succumbs to a sudden impulse and moves to press a kiss to the expanse of scarred skin over the side Roy's abdomen, caressing the mottled scarring over his hip gently with the side of his thumb; it's his prosthetic hand, so he's extra careful to go as gently as he's able. 

Roy makes a tiny sound that sounds more like pain than pleasure, and Ed wonders if he's done something wrong. But Roy reaches down to cup the back of Ed's head and Ed relaxes, understanding the touch is one of gratitude. Ed sits up and meets Roy's eyes, and unspoken acknowledgement passes between them again. 

Which only leaves one thing now. 

"Any last-minute advice?" Ed asks, feeling a flutter of nervous anticipation. 

"Just keep your teeth out of the way, and you'll do fine. Honestly, it's hard to do badly," Roy says, encouraging. "I'll warn you when I'm about to come - pull off and just finish with your hand, ok?" 

Ed looks down at Roy's cock and contemplates. It's fully erect now, the foreskin drawn all the way back to expose the shiny head. There's a bead of liquid at the tip, further evidence of Roy's state of arousal. Ed slides his fingers beneath the shaft - his left hand, of course - and lifts Roy's dick so that he can run his tongue over the tip and lick the pre-come off. 

He doesn't get much of a taste, beyond the slight tang of salt, but it's interesting nonetheless. He runs his tongue around the head, over the top, and then just beneath the ridge of the glans, and Roy breathes a sigh of pleasure. 

Encouraged, Ed takes the whole head into his mouth and sucks. It feels bigger than he thought it would, and for the first time he considers that this might be more difficult than he anticipated. Roy made it seem easy, but of course any skill looks easy when performed by an expert. 

Ed moves his head back up, trying to keep his lips tight as they slide over the head almost to the tip, and then he pushes back down again, trying to go further this time. He's hindered by an increase in friction, and he pulls off again and frowns slightly. The problem is that the rest of Roy's dick is dry, so the solution seems fairly obvious. 

He bends down to lick the underside of Roy's dick from the base up to the frenulum, and then repeats the action on either side. The front side provides a little more of a challenge, but by going at it from the side and twisting his tongue he manages to cover that side as well. Roy makes a sound which Ed chooses to interpret as being impressed, although there could have been amusement in there as well.

Ed goes over some of the same territory again to make sure he hasn't missed any, and also because the twitches of Roy's cock feel really kind of cool beneath his tongue. Once he's covered it pretty thoroughly, he tries sliding his mouth back down again, and this time it's much easier, the skin already slick with his spit. He moves up and down, going a little further each time. It takes a bit to work out how to breathe, drawing in air through his nose when he has only the head in his mouth, but eventually he gets a rhythm going and Roy groans in pleasure. 

Encouraged, Ed tries to go even deeper, and Roy's dick hits the back of his throat, causing him to gag immediately. Ed pulls off until the unpleasant sensation abates. Ed wonders how in hell Roy managed to get the entire length of Ed's dick into his mouth without even a hitch. Ed's not exactly hung like a horse, but he's roughly human average, which is still much further than Ed just managed. Ed decides this is something he's going to have to research, later. 

"You don't have to go too deep," Roy says. "Just that much feels great. And you can use your hand on the rest if you want."

Ed hadn't thought of that, but there's no reason he can't use his hand and mouth simultaneously, of course. 

He goes back to work, making sure not to sink down past his established limit, and makes a few experimental strokes with his hand on the lower half of Roy's dick until he can coordinate the rhythm of hand and mouth together. Roy's hips twitch up once before Roy gets himself back under control, which Ed takes as a pretty good sign.

"Your mouth," Roy murmurs. "I imagined what it'd feel like on me. After we kissed I thought I knew. But this is better--" Roy's voice catches as Ed sucks deliberately on the upstroke, and Ed smirks on the inside. Roy's hand flutters around his head for a moment, and then settles on the back of his neck. There's no pressure, just a grounding contact, the palm warm against his skin.

Ed experiments with pace and pressure and depth and tongue, listening carefully to the small sounds Roy makes and how his breath hitches, watching the muscles of his stomach clench to work out when he's getting something particularly right. 

Before too long, Roy's breath is speeding up, and Ed increases his efforts, picking up the pace and using the things he's discovered that Roy likes in particular.

"Ed," Roy gasps, "fuck, I'm going to come." 

Ed can feel Roy tugging at his shoulder, trying to push him away. 

"Ed, you should stop--" 

But Ed wants to see this through to completion. Roy swallowed him down without any trouble, so how hard could it be, really? Ed figures that he can do pretty much anything if he puts his mind to it; it's all about focus and determination. 

So he sucks harder and faster and Roy suddenly groans, his fingers tightening on Ed's shoulder. 

The first hot spurt that hits the back of his mouth is startling, and Ed automatically closes his throat off. The next couple follow rapidly after, and Ed's mouth is suddenly half full of hot, bitter fluid, and his lungs are crying out for air even as his gag reflex is triggering involuntarily. He manages to pull off Roy's dick, hearing himself make a horrible sort of choking sound, his body fighting to rid himself of the strange liquid it has deemed _inedible_ even as Ed fights to swallow it. And then, abruptly, he loses the battle and coughs somewhat violently, spraying pretty much the entire mouthful over Roy's hip. 

"Fucking--!" Ed manages, in between gasps for air. 

And Roy is _laughing_ , even as he's still coming, and somehow Ed manages to remember to keep moving his hand and stroke Roy through it. 

By the time Roy's finished, there's come and spit dribbling off Ed's chin, dripping down Roy's hip, and Ed is somewhere beyond mortified. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand in a futile attempt to clean his face. 

"Fuck, Roy, I'm sorry… I really tried."

But Roy is still caught in the throes of amusement. "Oh, Ed, the look on your face…" Roy squeezes Ed's wrist gently. "The first time is always a surprise - that's why I warned you. I didn't expect you to try and swallow." His tone is affectionate, the hand around Ed's wrist and slow sweep of this thumb comforting. "It takes practice."

"You made it seem easy," Ed grumbles. 

"Lots of practice," Roy grins. 

Normally Ed'd get pretty pissy about somebody laughing at his expense - there's not much that winds him up more - but there's not a trace of mockery in Roy's tone. Roy's amusement is kind, as though he's sharing it with Ed, rather than aiming it at him. It's not something he'd expected to experience during sex; Ed had always sort of figured that sex would be a rather serious affair. But Roy is still smiling at him with crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and Ed can't help but smile back somewhat ruefully in return. 

"You did really well," Roy says. 

"Until the end part," Ed replies, still warm-cheeked with embarrassment. 

"I enjoyed it," Roy says firmly. "And wasn't that the point?" 

Ed finds that he can't really argue with that. 

"You reminded me how much I _could_ enjoy it," Roy says. And then adds quickly, as if wanting to gloss over what he'd just admitted: "Although perhaps we should think about cleaning ourselves up at some point."

"Lemme grab something," Ed says, and Roy releases him so that he can slide off the bed. 

In the bathroom, Ed rinses out his mouth. The taste was stronger than he'd expected, bitter and briney. His lips are still sort of buzzing from the friction, and they're deeply red when he looks in the mirror. His hair is a total mess, there's still come on his chin, and he looks kind of debauched. He's not quite sure whether he should be embarrassed or proud of himself.

But Roy's words are still rattling around his head - that Ed had reminded Roy of how much he _could_ enjoy it - and Ed thinks that Roy might have meant more than just the blowjob. He thinks Roy might have meant sex altogether, and he's proud of _that_. That he made someone feel good, when they'd forgotten what it could be like. 

He can't imagine why Roy would be starved for sexual attention, though; he's freaking hot. Surely there'd be guys falling all over themselves to sleep with him. But then again, Ed realises, those guys actually _pay_ him to have sex with them, and Ed knows that's an entirely different thing. He guesses that something you do as a job sort of loses the magic, after a while. It's possible Roy hasn't really wanted to have sex for fun in a long time.

Ed grabs a washcloth, soaks it with warm water, and takes it back to his room.

Roy is still lying pretty much where Ed left him, sprawled on the bed completely naked, unashamed of his nudity. He's only half-hard now, his dick flopped to one side and resting against his thigh.

"Here," Ed says, taking a seat beside him. He uses the cloth to clean up the mess he'd made of Roy's abdomen, as well as the last few drips of come that had run down Roy's dick, going as gently as he can in case Roy's still sensitive. 

"Thankyou," Roy says, sounding a little surprised, although Ed's not sure why. Maybe it wasn't standard protocol to clean another guy's cock? Ed just figured that Roy was kind enough not to leave him with any mess to clean up, so the least he could do was give Roy a hand, especially as he caused most of it.

When he's done he tosses the cloth onto the pile of washing accumulating in one corner of the room, and then flops down onto the bed beside Roy.

"So what now?" Ed asks.

"Whatever you'd like," Roy says. "My time is yours. Do you think you'll be up for another round?"

"I'd kind of like to go again, but I probably shouldn't," Ed says regretfully. "Stupid morning classes. Gotta get some sleep or my brain will be fried and Al will kick my ass."

"In which case, I should probably leave you to your nightly repose," Roy says, pushing himself into a sitting position.

Ed grabs his wrist. "Will you stay? I mean, for a bit longer?" Ed knows their time is running out, but wants to be close to Roy for just a little longer. The evening was pretty intense in more ways than one and he's still coming down from it; he doesn't really want to be alone right now. 

Roy looks at him, and Ed wonders how much Roy can read from his expression.

"I can stay a little longer," Roy says finally.

Roy gets up and searches through the discarded items of clothing until he finds his underwear and pulls them on, and Ed does the same with his boxers, just less gracefully.

Ed returns to the bathroom, brushes his teeth for a second time, de-tangles and re-ties his hair, takes a piss, washes his hands, and heads back to the bedroom. "Bathroom's yours, if you need it," he says. Roy disappears for a few minutes, presumably to perform his own ablutions.

"Is it still ok if I take these off?" Ed asks when he returns, tapping his artificial thigh.

"Of course."

It's a bit of a procedure, releasing the vacuum seals that hold the sockets of the prostheses onto the stumps of his limbs, detaching the electrodes that stick to his skin, releasing the strap of the chest harness. Roy watches with interest, but Ed finds that he minds that less than if Roy had pretended not to watch. The charge stand for his limbs is right next to his bed, so he sets them onto it and attaches the cables, waiting for the charging lights to turn on - orange, so they were pretty low. Not really surprising, considering he had a long day and then a busy evening. Ed rubs at the stump of his arm as it tingles with the release of the pressure it had been under.

"Do they hurt to wear?" Roy asks.

Ed shrugs. "Not really. Sometimes there's a bit of chafing from the sockets, or skin irritation where the electrodes connect. If I walk too much I can bruise the leg stump a little. But mostly it's not too bad."

Ed looks down at the remains of his leg. To him, the stumps are ugly, misshapen things; shattered bone and atrophied muscle encased in scar-laced skin.

"Ed," Roy says gently. "You're beautiful. Not 'despite' anything; the statement needs no qualifiers. You're beautiful."

Ed looks up, ready to protest, but the look of quiet honesty on Roy's face aborts the tirade. 

"Thanks," he says gruffly, knowing his cheeks are reddening again and looking away in embarrassment. Damn Roy for making it so hard to argue with that face.

Roy takes Ed's chin gently in his hand, turning Ed's head back to face him so that he can press a kiss to his mouth. Ed kisses him back, hungry for every scrap of attention and affection Roy will give him before their time is up.

"Can we just lie here for a bit?" Ed asks when Roy pulls away.

"Certainly," Roy says, lying down and making himself comfortable on his side.

"You'll get cold," Ed protests. He pushes the blankets down on his own side and squirms beneath them, looking back at Roy pointedly. 

Roy gives a feigned sigh and slips beneath them on his own side. 

Ed turns onto his right side - it's easier for Ed than lying on the left, due to the missing leg - which puts his back to Roy. He deliberately shuffles back a little towards the middle of the bed, hoping Roy will get the hint.

A few moments later there's movement behind him, and then Roy's warm chest presses against his back and Roy's arm slides over his side, his hand flat on Ed's stomach.

"Is this what you wanted?" Roy asks, his breath warm on the side of Ed's neck. 

"Yeah," Ed says, not afraid to admit it. Cuddling is awesome and any guy who thinks it's just for girls or kids deserves to miss out. "Just for a bit?"

"All right." 

"You don't mind?"

There's silence for a few moments, and then Roy says, low and close to his ear: "No. I don't mind." 

Roy presses in even closer behind him, his body curving around Ed's ass, his thigh snugged up to the back of Ed's. Ed could _definitely_ get used to this, he thinks. He closes his eyes, savouring the warmth and closeness of another human body. Just the proximity of Roy and the feel of bare skin against his has his dick stirring yet again, and if he wasn't so tired, he might be tempted to go for it again. Instead, he promises himself ten minute's rest, and then he'll kick Roy out. Ten, maybe fifteen. 

Ed's asleep in five.

* * *

Ed is jolted awake by a wordless cry and sudden movement in the bed beside him. For a moment he's disoriented, unused to sleeping next to anyone but Al, and the black, shaggy mop of hair next to him is definitely not Al's. 

But then the figure resolves into Roy, who is sitting hunched forwards over his knees, head dropped forward so that his hair obscures most of his face. Ed can't see his expression, but his breath is coming in great gasping heaves, choked off intermittently as he tries to get them under control. 

"Whoa, are you ok?" Ed asks in alarm, sitting up beside him. He reaches out to put a hand on Roy's shoulder but stops short, not knowing whether Roy can cope with being touched at the moment. It's a moronic question, of course; Roy can't even catch his breath well enough to answer right now.

"Breathe, Roy. In and out, one after the other. Just slow it down, you can do it. In and out." After a few moments Roy's desperate gasps for breath start to slow, so Ed keeps up a steady patter of encouragement and commentary, hoping he's helping rather than hindering. 

Eventually Roy's breathing evens out into something more controlled, and Ed falls silent, giving Roy a few minutes to pull himself together. He knows just how shattering nightmares can be, knows how they can strip you raw and leave you as exhausted and wrung-out as a damp dishcloth. 

"I'm sorry for disturbing you," Roy says eventually, a slight rasp in his cultured voice. He's still not looking at Ed. "That was-- that is, I hadn't intended to fall asleep."

He turns away from Ed to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "I'm very sorry. I should really be going now."

Roy pushes himself to his feet, picking his clothes up off the floor with hands still shaking with adrenaline. 

"I get them too," Ed says. "Nightmares. About the crash."

Roy pauses in the act of pulling on his jeans, glances at Ed briefly and then away again. He finishes pulling the pants up, fumbles with the button before getting it to catch and drawing up the zipper. 

"I wake up feeling sick and shaky and hollow, like something's cracked open my ribs and yanked everything out of my chest and put it all on display for the world to see," Ed continues. "Usually I go climb in Al's bed and he holds me for the rest of the night." He pauses, desperately wanting to help, but not sure if Roy will accept it. Then he decides to throw caution to the wind; the worst Roy can do is say is no. "You're welcome to stay, if you want. With me. If you think that's something that might help." 

Roy looks at him again and Ed catches the briefest flicker of something he thinks might be longing before Roy's expression smoothes out into a polite, meaningless smile. 

"Thankyou for the offer, but I'm afraid I should be going now anyway. I have things to be getting on with."

Ed doesn't call him on this obvious fabrication - it's still only four or five in the morning, it's not like anything is open at this time of day, and the streets will be empty of potential customers by now. 

Roy's pulled his socks and t-shirt on now and turns to go. Ed wants to follow him out but it would take too long to strap his leg on and he can't use his crutches without his arm. He struggles to push down the flare of frustration. 

"Can I see you again?" Ed blurts just before Roy makes it through the bedroom door. "I mean, can I… reserve you? For another night?" Ed wants to punch himself in the face for the idiocy of the phrasing; for making Roy sound like a goddamn library book. Roy hesitates in the doorway but hasn't turned back around yet, so Ed persists. 

"I still have some virginity left to lose, right? I still need to try fucking, and being fucked. I'd rather it be with you, than someone I don't know. I trust you…" Ed trails off, knowing that he's coming perilously close to begging, but it makes Roy look back over his shoulder at Ed properly, so it was totally worth it. 

Roy's expression is hard to read. Wary, maybe? A touch resigned? Ed really can't tell. 

"When did you have in mind?"

"Wednesday night," Ed says quickly, before Roy can reconsider. He'll make sure Al is out of the house by whatever means necessary. "All night, if you're available." 

Roy says nothing for a few moments, and Ed's nearly convinced himself that Roy's going to turn him down, when he finally nods. "All right. Meet me on the same corner. Eight PM."

"Great!" Ed says, unable to contain the grin that wants to split his face. "And Roy - thanks. For everything. For making it good, and being patient, and not freaking out about the arm and leg; just - everything."

Roy nods and gifts Ed with a smile in return; small, but sincere. "You're very welcome, Ed."

Then he's gone. 

Ed listens until he hears the door to the flat open and close, the deadbolt automatically re-engaging after Roy's exit.

Ed switches off the lamp and flops back down onto his back, staring up at the bedroom roof through the darkness. He doesn't expect to be able to sleep again any time soon, but to his surprise, he's out again within minutes.

* * *

Ed's woken by the front door being opened and closed in a deliberately noisy fashion.

"Brother, I'm home! I hope you're up and getting ready already!" Al's voice floats from the living room.

Ed cracks his eyes open and scowls at the brightness of the light coming in around the curtains, still sleep-groggy and disoriented. He figures he can snatch another five minutes of sleep before Al comes in to harass him awake properly, so buries his face in the pillow in an attempt to block out the world for a little longer.

"Brother?" Al says an indeterminate amount of time later, and something in his tone makes Ed blink himself awake and push himself up onto an elbow to look at him. Al is standing in the bedroom doorway, a purple toothbrush in his hand. For a split second Ed is confused; he knows that Al's is green and his own is orange.

Then the pieces of the previous evening all snap back into place and Ed groans, because Al is going to want answers. _All_ the answers. "Oh, fuck," he mutters, flopping back onto the bed and throwing his arm over his face.

"Brother!!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the only good thing about embarrassing experiences is that when you're a writer you can store them away and know that one day they'll make great fodder for some fic or another. Sorry Ed, you got my first attempt to swallow. 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's kudoed and commented, I have been absolutely blown away by the response to just the first two chapters! It's amazingly encouraging. I'm really enjoying writing this, and look forward to getting into the darker stuff soonish.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ed confesses several things, Roy runs errands, Al is confused as to how one accidentally hires a sex worker, and Roy is a ghost of the past observing the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again I get to 15k words before realising this section actually needed to be broken into two chapters, but at least that means I'm halfway through the next chapter already? *headdesk*
> 
> Thanks so much for all the feedback and encouragement, guys =D I'm so completely buzzed that people are actually enjoying the story so far!

It's not all that far from Ed's apartment block to Roy's, so by the time he's in front of the dank, run-down building he calls home, Roy's still pretty wound up. Instead of stopping, he does another loop around the block, trying to drain the adrenalin from his body and calm his whirlwind of thoughts. 

He should never have fallen asleep. It's so unlike him to fall asleep in a strange place in front of a strange person that he's still not sure how it even happened. He'd been tired, but Roy's pretty much used to living his life in a perpetual fog of semi-exhaustion; nightmares, insomnia and and fractured sleep having been his reality since returning from the burning sands of Ishval. 

Roy is embarrassed and ashamed that anyone saw him suffer that kind of loss of control. The nightmare had been a bad one, and he'd taken minutes to come back to himself fully. Ed's voice had helped, had acted as an anchor while Roy's vision flickered between his hazy reality and the stark clarity of his desert memories. 

And then Ed had offered to let him stay, and in a moment of weakness Roy had almost, _almost_ agreed. He'd desperately wanted to stay in that warm little place that his jittery, paranoid brain had somehow deemed 'safe', with the comfort of another body curled around his own. But he forced himself to fight the impulse, turning away from the temptation of the one-armed boy watching him with concerned golden eyes.

Somehow, over the course of a single evening, Ed had managed to worm his way in past all of Roy's carefully-constructed guards, and Roy can't help but resent him a little for it. Something about Ed made Roy want to trust him, had let him relax so deeply that he'd fallen asleep beside him. He had an earnestness of the sort that Roy had just about forgotten existed, and he wore his heart on his sleeve for all the world to see. Roy knew that open, trusting heart was the most dangerous thing he'd faced since he'd been staring down the barrel of an Ishvalan gun.

Roy can't afford let anyone care about him. He'd heard the way Ed had sounded as he was leaving, the tentative note of hope in his voice, and knows what it could lead to. But Roy is a poor choice for anybody to trust or care for; he can be what somebody wants for a night, but he'll never be there in the morning. He's not going to stick around; he _can't_. He can barely get himself from day to day - he just isn't capable of being what anybody else needs.

He really shouldn't have agreed to meet Ed again. Ed's too attached already; further contact is just going to make it even harder to sever the connection when the time comes. But when Ed had talked about losing the remainder of his virginity, Roy had immediately pictured him being carelessly fucked by one of the other streetwalkers if Roy declined, and he _could not_ let that happen. He wouldn't trust any of them to be as kind, gentle, and respectful as Ed deserves - to treat Ed the way he needs to be treated. He knows how vulnerable Ed is, how fragile his relationship with his own body, and how easily he could be hurt by a careless word or gesture. So despite the rational part of his brain blaring every warning klaxon it knew at him, he'd conceded.

Roy isn't good for much these days, but this is something he knows he can do. He can teach Ed how to please and be pleased, and how good it can feel to push deep into another person's body. He can make sure that Ed's first time is memorable for all the right reasons. All he has to do is repair and reinforce his tattered emotional barriers and not give in to the weakness of wanting a warm body and a kind touch.

When Roy reaches the entrance to his building for a second time, he heads inside and up to his ratty little apartment. It's a single room plus bathroom; tiny even in comparison with Ed's, but it's not like Roy needs much space. He has little in the way of furniture or possessions. More _things_ would just clutter up the place anyway, make it harder for him to get around or find what he needs. 

He tugs his shoes off and sets them beside the front door, and then goes to collapse on the bed. He manages to pull his jeans and t-shirt off before finally crawling beneath the covers. He doesn't know why he's so exhausted; the evening with Ed was the easiest night's work he's had in a year. But it had taken unexpected amounts of energy to balance on the knife-edge between revealing enough of himself to gain Ed's trust and holding enough back to keep himself safe. And in the end he'd failed anyway - he'd given away much more of himself than he had intended. 

Roy pulls the blankets in tight around him and closes his eyes, trying not to think of Ed's tentative hands on his body, Ed's mouth sealing around his cock, slick and warm as he discovered how bring Roy pleasure. He tries not to think of Ed pressed against him, kissing him, grinding their bodies together. 

It had felt so fucking good. _He'd_ felt so fucking good. And while something inside him is elated that he's still able to feel that kind of pleasure, another part of him howls betrayal. It's the part of him he sends out, night after night, to be used by other men. Roy had made an agreement with that part of himself years ago - he'd do it because he had to, because he could see no other way to his goal, but he'd never take pleasure in it himself. It would be a job, a means to an end, and he'd stay detached no matter what he was required to do. It was how he'd survived for so long: reminding himself that it was just his body they were fucking, it wasn't Roy himself.

Only now he's let down his guard and lost that detachment - when he'd been with Ed he'd been _himself_. He'd craved the feeling of Ed's gentle hands, had been so desperate to be acknowledged as a person worthy of pleasure and care that he'd ignored the fact that opening himself up only ever lead to suffering. Now he struggles to reconcile the part of him that wants Ed, that enjoyed being with him, with the part of himself that pocketed a bundle of notes to surrender his body for the night. He doesn't know how to be both men and not lose the last shreds of his sanity.

Roy's thoughts are still harrying each other around like a dog chasing its own tail when he finally falls asleep.

 

Roy wakes up to the _ding_ of his phone, followed by the phone's AI informing him primly: _Text message from Hawkeye, received at eleven twenty-seven AM_. He blinks blearily, struggling to fight through the haze of fatigue and throw off the cobwebs of broken sleep; he's pretty sure he didn't get more than four or five hours sleep last night in total. 

He fumbles for his phone on the bedside table, managing to knock it out of the charging dock before he gets a proper grip on it and pull it to him.

"Play last text message," Roy says, trying to speak clearly enough for the phone's voice recognition to parse his request.

_Playing text message from Hawkeye, received at eleven twenty-seven AM. Morning, Mustang. It's your favourite day of the week again._

Roy groans. He can practically hear Hawkeye's relentless cheerfulness, despite the flat, uninflected speech of the AI. 

"Create text message to Hawkeye," Roy says, glad that at least the AI won't hold his resentful tone against him. "No day which involves a supermarket is my favourite anything. Message complete. Send message."

Roy dumps the phone back on the bedside table, having done his duty and delivered proof of life. Most of their daily exchanges are no longer than a single sentence sent either way; rarely anything interesting or of consequence. It's not the words that are important, after all. 

Roy's spent the last few years resenting and craving each daily message in equal measure. Craving, because the messages are the one slender thread of human connection he has remaining with anybody who knows who Roy Mustang is. Resenting, because it forces him to think about Riza waiting for a message that will never come whenever he hits his darkest lows, when he'd otherwise be tempted to simply end it all. Which is precisely why she does it, of course. 

She'd been the one to find him slumped over the table amongst the empty pill bottles, shattered glass on the floor from where the bottle of gin had dropped from lifeless fingers. It's not something she's ever going to forget, he knows. The guilt of it is what keeps him responding on the days when he's so empty and exhausted that he simply wants to give up and finally sever his last connection to humanity.

From the bedside, his phone beeps again. _Text message from Hawkeye, received at eleven thirty-one AM_.

"Play last text message," Roy sighs.

_Playing text message from Hawkeye, received at eleven thirty-one AM. Still more fun than having to dig a supply truck full of MREs out of a sand dune_. 

Roy snorts, remembering the incident she was referring to all too well. The constantly-blowing winds of Ishval swept up flurries of sand as they ranged over the dunes and deposited it everywhere - it was hell on vehicles and machinery.

Roy's not entirely certain how Hawkeye has come to be so familiar with his current routine. He's relatively sure she still hasn't located him. He has no doubt she _could_ , if she harnessed the resources available to her, but when he severed all ties with his former life he asked her not to try, and so far, she's respected his request. It hasn't stopped the daily text messages, of course, but she's always been stubborn when it comes to trying to look after him - even after everyone else has given him up as a lost cause. He doesn't know if she's aware what he does for a living these days, or where his money goes. If she does, it's not something she's ever brought up.

Roy finally drags himself out of bed, running a hand over his face. He needs a shower and a shave, especially after his activities of the previous evening. He heads to the bathroom and turns the shower as hot as it will go, then scours himself with the washcloth from head to toe. Once he's clean and pink-skinned he dries himself off and runs a razor over the stubble just starting to darken his jaw. He locates something decent to wear from his clean clothes drawers, then debates breakfast for a moment before deciding to pass. He can't quite face the idea of a meal, knowing what he has ahead of him. 

Roy collects the money he's earned over the previous week from the various places he'd hidden it. His place has been broken into several times while he's been out; fortunately there's nothing obvious worth taking, so he never ends up with anything worse than broken locks. The would-be thieves never look particularly hard for hidden caches, assuming he's as broke as his shitty apartment would suggest, but there's still no reason to make it easy for them. 

He sits on the edge of the bed as he sorts it into piles. He's incredibly lucky for the design of Amestrian currency, which colour-codes a wide strip on every note according to denomination. If he had to rely on reading the numerical values Roy would be completely fucked, not even able to verify how much he was being paid in the dim glow of the street lights.

Once he's sorted the week's worth of savings, he digs into his pocket and pulls out his previous night's earnings, flipping through the notes and counting quickly, hoping that he was right about Ed's trustworthiness. When he gets to the end of the pile he frowns, and recounts it from the beginning. His second tally comes up the same: Ed's actually overpaid him by 10% - there's precisely 66k in the pile. Roy is pretty sure that Ed isn't the sort to make casual mistakes, so he has little doubt that the overpayment was deliberate. An intentional tip? Tipping isn't all that common in Amestria, although some of the more wealthy elite employ it as a means of flaunting their financial status. He really can't see Ed as the sort to show off, though, so he's not entirely sure what it means, especially as Ed paid him _before_ he'd even started work.

When Ed's payment is added to the pile, the week's tally is more than respectable, and Roy is relieved. Last month he hadn't done particularly well, and had little left over after the transfer. This time he should have enough left to cover his own needs for the month. 

He folds the wad of notes and pushes it deep into his pocket, grabs his phone, slips his sunglasses on, and heads out the door. 

Outside, the day is only moderately warm but the sun is bright and glaring, and Roy can't see anything even with the sunglasses, his vision completely dazzled. He waits, pressed back against the front wall of the building, not daring to step onto the footpath and potentially into the path of passers-by. Eventually his eyes begin to adjust and he can start making out shapes and shadows again, well enough to be able to avoid other pedestrians and navigate to places he's familiar with, at least.

His first stop, as it is every Tuesday, is the bank. The less time he spends carrying around a pocket full of cash, the less likely he is to have it taken off him. The advantage of always going to the bank on the same day of the week is that he always gets the same teller. Adeline is perpetually cheerful and upbeat, but beyond that Roy can't tell much; after the bright sunlight outside, walking inside the windowless bank is like walking into a crypt, and he counts himself lucky if he doesn't bump into anyone or anything. 

Today Adeline greets him cheerfully and calls him "Mr Mustang", as usual. Even years later it's still jarring to hear his name without his rank, and Roy has to suppress the flinch. He acknowledges her politely, using her name in kind. As much as her familiarity discomforts him, it is at least useful - she always has the paperwork he needs ready as soon as he reaches her window. Roy hands over the money to deposit, and waits while she counts it and fills in the totals on the form.

When she passes it through to Roy's side of the window, he feels for the small sticky tab that she always places next to the line where he needs to sign. The first couple of times they'd interacted he'd used his standard excuse - "I've forgotten my glasses, could you please point it out for me?" - but after that she'd taken to marking it without even being asked. He doesn't know whether she realises just how blind he actually is, but she never makes an issue of it, for which he is grateful.

Once the transaction is complete Roy wishes her a good day and turns to go before she can engage him in smalltalk, as she regularly attempts to do. Roy isn't sure whether she's just gregarious or whether she's interested in him in particular, but he doesn't want to encourage it either way. He knows that Adeline is the sort of woman that Roy Mustang would once have turned on the charm for, but he's not that man any longer. He's not interested in that kind of attention any more.

The clinic is his second stop. It's a ten minute walk from the bank, and Roy makes it without any trouble. He's a regular here as well, but the randomness of the employee schedule means that he never knows who'll be on at the front desk; there are at least half a dozen different people he's spoken to so far.

The clinic is shabby, run-down, and always bustling with people; a free clinic in this kind of area is a magnet to the downtrodden and dregs of society, like Roy. The hookers and addicts, the homeless and slum-dwellers, the mentally ill and the refugees - all of them come here when in need. 

Roy agrees to take the next available slot and takes a seat in the corner, settling in to wait. As he scans the room his gaze snags on a young man with brown skin and a shock of white hair. He's wearing tinted glasses, but Roy has little doubt as to the colour of his eyes. Roy has to force himself to look away, to keep breathing evenly, even as his stomach lurches sickly. It's not the first time he's seen an Ishvalan here, and he has to fight to keep the contents of his stomach down every time. The cocktail of instinctive terror and crushing guilt is a potent one. 

Roy's called after half an hour or so, by which time the Ishvalan has fortunately gone. He makes his way over to where the voice had spoken his name. He doesn't recognise the nurse who greets him, but she's both uninterested and efficient, which is always Roy's preference. She gets him to roll up his sleeves and pokes at various veins before picking a favourite, then tightens the tourniquet and slides the needle in, snapping on the vacuum-sealed vial and waiting for it to fill. After the blood test is done she hands him a cup, and Roy heads off to the bathroom to fill it. 

The results typically take a couple of days to come back. Roy's pretty sure everything will be negative, as usual; he's always careful with protection when he's working, and is otherwise sexually inactive. Ed is the only guy he's blown without a condom in a while - Roy figured you don't get much safer than a virgin. And he wouldn't have let Ed blow him without one if he hadn't been sure he was clean. Roy might not value his own life much these days, but he's not going to risk infecting anyone else. 

Once he's done at the clinic, it's time for his least favourite activity of the day: grocery shopping.

Roy loathes the supermarket with every fibre of his being. Trying to work out what he needs without being able to read the labels would be bad enough on its own, but visually complex scenes with lots of detail are exceptionally difficult for his damaged brain to process. In the supermarket there are simply too many items in too many colours and shapes; his vision has a tendency to get completely overwhelmed and stop 'seeing' even what's right in front of him, making it impossible to find things even when he knows the general look of the packets he wants. 

He's managed to memorise where the most common items he needs are, and fortunately the supermarket doesn't tend to change the basic layout. But he still has to ask for the location of items he's not familiar with or that have been shifted a shelf up or down, and often the responses from the harried shelf-stockers aren't precise enough to direct him to what he needs. More than once he's given up and gone without something he's needed simply to avoid the humiliation of having to ask for repeated assistance.

Roy goes through his mental list as he makes his way carefully up and down the aisles. He uses a handbasket, not trusting himself with a trolley. The bright fluorescent lights overhead reflect off the metal shelves and fittings, distracting his brain and make it harder to focus. By the time he reaches the register he has a splitting headache and is struggling not to squint.

He hands over cash to pay for his purchases, holding his hand out for the change when it's offered, but he must misjudge the distance, as several coins slip out of his grasp and go jangling to the floor. 

Roy has no hope of finding them, so he simply gathers his bags and turns to go.

"Sir, your change!" 

"It doesn't matter," Roy says, throwing what he hopes is a charming smile over his shoulder, and then hurries out of the shop before anyone can take pity on him and offer to help. 

Roy finally makes it back to the safety of his apartment, locking the door behind him. The room is blessedly dark after the bright sunlight outside, and he closes his eyes to block out visual input entirely, navigating the room from memory. He dumps the bags on the bench next to the sink and goes to lie down on his bed, arm draped across his eyes, trying not to think. The headache slowly abates.

* * *

Ed dives into his pile of toast, hoping that if he keeps his mouth full he can postpone the interrogation. 

No such luck, of course - Al's curiosity waits for no breakfast. To make it worse, Al's already eaten, so has nothing to do except sit there and watch Ed try not to squirm under his knowing gaze.

Ed tries very hard not to squirm, but is not entirely successful.

"So you had somebody over last night?" Al asks finally, with deceptive casualness. 

"Yeah."

"Anybody I know?" 

"...no."

Al's eyebrows rise a little. "You had a new friend over?" 

"Isn't that what I just said?" Ed grumbles. 

Al's eyes light up, and Ed knows he's doomed. 

"So is this new friend just a friend, or perhaps something more?" 

Ed's not exactly sure how to answer that, and takes a gulp of juice to postpone having to answer. Roy's certainly not just a friend, but he's not the potential romantic partner that Al's obviously envisioning, either. 

Ed swallows and shrugs. "It's not platonic, if that's what you're asking."

Al's eyebrows fly up this time, eyes round and mouth slightly parted in surprise. Ed can feel the warmth of his own cheeks and knows that Al is reading him like a book. 

"Were you intimate with her, brother?" 

Ed freezes. He realises abruptly that he's never really had this conversation with Al, not properly. He came close after the last breakup with Winry; he remembers Al trying to comfort him, telling him that there were plenty of other girls who'd be interested in him, and Ed had said that the problem was that he wasn't interested in them - any of them. But he hadn't mentioned anything about the alternative, and Al hadn't pushed. 

There was no way around it now, though. 

"Him. And yeah."

Ed can't help tensing, waiting for a reaction, gaze fixed on the surface of the table in front of him. He sees movement in his peripheral vision, and then Al's hand is closing over his own. Ed twists his wrist so that he can grasp it tightly in return. Relief floods through Ed at the contact, at the tightness of Al's grip. Reationally he knew that Al wouldn't reject him over something like this, but emotionally the fear of abandonment runs deep. 

"Did you know?" Ed asks, still not able to look at him. 

"I had wondered," Al says softly. "But I wanted you to bring it up in your own time. Thankyou for telling me."

Ed shrugs. Of course he's going to tell Al; he could never keep something this important from him, not now he knows for sure. 

"How was it? With him?" 

Ed knows what Al's asking - not about the act itself, but how Ed felt about it afterwards, how it changed his understanding of himself. 

Ed can't help the grin that spreads across his face, and finally manages to look at his brother again. "It was great. _He_ was great. And it felt…" Ed struggles for a word to encompass the perfection of their bodies fitting together, moving together. "Right. Right for me."

Al squeezes his hand. "I'm so glad, brother! How do you feel now?" 

"Relieved," Ed answers honestly. "Turns out I'm not broken, just gay." He snorts, knowing it sounds stupid, but Al's expression is so elated and compassionate that Ed can't feel too bad. "Also pretty damn buzzed - I had no idea how good it could feel, being with someone else like that. I guess it's not something you can really understand until you've done it." 

Al had tried to describe it for him once - without details, of course, just the feeling of intimacy and connection that being with someone sexually could provide - but Ed just hadn't been able to conceptualise it at the time. Now he gets it. 

"It sounds like you had a good time, then?" Al asks, but there's something slightly uncertain in his tone.

"Yeah, that's pretty much the understatement of the year," Ed grins.

Al returns the smile but it fades a fraction too quickly, and Ed can see the concern in his expression, the slight wrinkle of his forehead. 

"What?" Ed demands, raising an eyebrow, waiting for him to spit it out. 

"There weren't any issues, with your arm or leg?" Al asks finally, tentatively. 

"No," Ed says, knowing he sounds surprised and a little dazed, feeling the sense of awe at Roy's reaction to his body all over again. "No, none. He was fucking amazing, Al. He didn't freak out, or pity me, or anything. He touched them like he touched the rest of me. He fucking _got it_." Ed pauses, remembering the way Roy had run his eyes and hands over Ed's body, and feels overwhelmed all over again. "Al… he said I was beautiful. And he meant it." He can hear the combination of amazement and bewilderment in his voice. 

Al releases his hand to hug him, and Ed catches the shine of welling tears in his eyes. He hugs Al back just as hard, the two of them clinging to each like they'd done when they were younger. 

"I'm so glad!" Al says, muffled against his shoulder. "It's what you deserve, brother. It's everything you deserve."

They sit together for a little while, Ed wrapped in the comfort of his brother's arms, until Al finally draws away, discretely wiping his eyes with his sleeve, cheeks round with the force of his delighted smile. 

"So what is your gentleman's name?" Al asks. 

"Roy."

"How did you meet him?"

And there is the question that Ed's afraid is going to bring everything tumbling down like a house of cards. 

Ed could try to lie. Either explicitly, or by omission. But he knows two things all too well: firstly, he's a crappy liar. His face is expressive and tends to broadcast whatever he's feeling. Secondly, Al can sniff out something he's hiding a mile away. 

These two things mean that it's pretty much always better to just come clean about whatever it is he's done this time - face the music and get it over with. 

"I hired him."

Al looks at him, confused. "Hired him to do what?" 

"Have sex with me."

There is silence for a few moments, and Ed braces himself for whatever is about to come. 

"You hired a sex worker?" Al asks quietly. 

"Yeah."

"Why?" 

"I didn't mean to," Ed says helplessly. "It wasn't like I planned it. It was an accident!" 

"How do you _accidentally_ hire a sex worker?" Al asks, baffled. 

Ed pushes his plate away and drops his forehead to the table. "I don't know!" He says, slightly muffled. "It just sort of happened!" 

"What exactly happened?" 

Ed sits up again and sighs. "I saw him, and he was… hot. Really hot. I didn't even realise he was a hooker, at first. And I was just sort of standing there like an idiot looking at him and he asked if he could help me. And so I blurted out the first thing that occurred to me, and asked him how much."

"And then what?" 

"And then he said I was just a kid and he didn't fuck kids, so after that I _had_ to prove myself. I couldn't let him keep thinking that."

"Of course not," Al says wryly. 

"Plus, it was really cold last night," Ed says in a small voice. "He was only wearing a t-shirt, and he must have been freezing. And he probably would have stood on that corner for hours, and I just sort of thought… well, our place is warm. And he looked like he could do with a good meal."

"Oh, _brother_ ," Al says, and then Al is hugging him again. 

Ed holds onto his brother tightly. He couldn't stand it if Al was angry with him - or worse, disappointed. Al's opinion of him is the only thing he really cares about; the rest of the world can go to hell. 

"So does this mean you're not pissed at me?" Ed dares to ask. 

"Of course I'm not angry." Al draws back to look at him, hands on Ed's shoulders, a gentle smile on his face. "Although this does mean that you can never make fun of me for bringing home stray cats again."

Ed snorts. "Not exactly the same thing," he says, and then he smirks. "But at least _Roy_ didn't give me fleas."

Al smiles at him fondly. "I love that you care, brother. Even when you pretend you don't."

Ed's not sure what to say to that, so he crams the last of his toast into his mouth instead. 

"However you came to choose him, it sounds like Roy was good for you."

"He really was," Ed says, gulping the last of his juice. "So, uh… does that mean that you might want to spend the night at Mei's again on Wednesday?" 

"You're seeing him again?" Al asks, sounding surprised. 

Ed nods. "Yeah. I, um, organised to hire him again."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" 

"Why wouldn't it be?" Ed asks, frowning. "Do you think I shouldn't?" 

Al's expression does something complicated, but then he squeezes Ed's shoulder and smiles. "It's up to you, brother. If it's what you want, then I will support you one hundred percent."

Ed squeezes Al's wrist in gratitude, and then takes his dishes to the sink. He hesitates, and then goes back to the table where Al's still waiting patiently.

"And you really don't mind?" Ed asks. "I mean… me and guys?"

"Why would I mind?" Al asks, looking genuinely baffled. "You're Ed, you're my brother, I love you exactly as you are. I just want you to be happy. Are you happier now that you know?"

Ed thinks about it for a little while before he answers.

"I wish that I could have been what Winry wanted," he says finally. "It would have been easier, for both of us, if I wanted that too. But it just wasn't me, and trying to make myself into that was just messing me up. Working out what I actually wanted was… I mean, it was sort of something I already knew, in the back of my head, I was just working really hard not to think about it. I was afraid, I guess, of what it meant. Of what other people would think." 

Ed looks up to find no hint of condemnation in Al's gaze, and it gives him the courage to continue. "And then suddenly there was a guy kissing me, lying on top of me and--" Ed stumbles to a halt, face flaming. Al really doesn't need to know those particular details. "Well, let's just say that that was pretty fucking conclusive. It felt fantastic. And it sort of made me realise that sure, there are going to be some downsides, but there are some pretty awesome upsides, too. And all those things I thought I'd lost when I ended it with Winry - I can still have those. It's just gonna be with a guy."

Ed shrugs, managing a lopsided smile. "So yeah - it's not like working out that I'm gay magically fixed everything, but still, I'm pretty damn happy on the whole."

Al smiles at him in return, eyes suspiciously watery again. "I'm glad, brother. Not everything from here on will be easy for you - some people may react badly and others simply won't understand. But being happy with one's self is more important than taking the easier path. You've taken a very brave first step, and realised some very important things, and I'm proud of you," Al says. 

The words warm Ed all the way through. His smile widens and he wiggles his toes, the happiness swirling around inside of him threatening to overflow. Al's approval means the world to him. 

"Thanks, Al. You're pretty damn awesome yourself." He pauses, and then looks at Al sideways. "For a straight boy."

Al throws a scrunched-up napkin at him, and Ed snickers. 

"Still…" Ed says contemplatively. "Maybe you could tell Winry. Y'know. Sometime when I'm not in the house. Or like, maybe the country."

"Oh, no, brother - you're on your own there!"

"Damnit," Ed says. Hey, it'd been worth a shot.

"Come on, we're going to be late for class as it is."

* * *

When he gets up again Roy makes himself a sandwich - he's not really hungry, but he can just hear Hawkeye's voice in his head berating him for skipping two meals in a row. After he's eaten, he changes into a pair of sweatpants and a hooded t-shirt, pulls on his running shoes, slides his sunglasses back on and heads out again. 

It's a half hour walk to the nature reserve. The reserve is a large area dotted with parks, picnic spots and playgrounds, with a stream that winds its way from corner to corner, little bridges crossing it at regular intervals. 

Roy uses the same jogging track every time he goes - the turns, bumps and uneven stretches all familiar to him by now. It's paved with packed gravel and the feel and sound of it beneath his feet help ensure he doesn't stray from the path. It doesn't mean it's entirely safe, of course - other joggers still seem to appear out of nowhere sometimes - but he's managed to avoid crashing into anyone yet. The running is good exercise, allowing him to keep up a basic level of fitness, but that's not why he comes to this particular place. 

The tail end of the track takes him past the biggest children's playground, and Roy slows as he reaches it, finding a free bench and taking a seat as if in need of a break. He pulls his hood up and keeps his sunglasses on, just another anonymous jogger. 

There are kids swarming over the jungle gym, climbing the ladders and frames, swinging on the swings, chasing each other around. Roy can't make out their faces and doesn't know what she'll be wearing, so he closes his eyes instead and listens. It takes time to sort through each of the piping young voices, focusing on each for just long enough to be sure it's not her. It takes a little while until he finally hears it:

"Mama, Mama, look at me! Look how high I can climb!"

The voice is clear, high-pitched, and achingly familiar despite the fact that she's never spoken directly to him. 

Roy's learnt that she's adventurous for a five year old, daring herself to climb higher, run faster, swing harder, every time she comes. She delights in sunshine and flowers and jumping in puddles; she loves playing with the other children and chattering to anyone who'll listen, but above all, she adores her mother. 

Roy knows that Gracia is nearby. He can sometimes pick her out from the other mothers keeping watchful eyes on their children, but usually needs her voice to be sure. She speaks gently and thoughtfully, always patient with her enthusiastic, rambunctious daughter. 

Once he's picked Elysia out of the crowd, he allows himself fifteen minutes. Sometimes he'll watch her play as well as his vision allows, other times, if she's chattering away, he'll close his eyes and simply listen.

He always feels guilty, being near them like this, watching them without them knowing. It's the one guilty pleasure he allows himself, coming here once a week, making sure she's still whole and healthy, seeing how she's growing up little by little. 

It makes his chest ache with loss every time he sees them, the Maes-shaped hole in his life still ragged and raw even three years later. But this connection to his former lover, slender as it might be, is still better than nothing. He loved Maes and Maes loved his family; Roy has no choice but to love them too.

Even if Hughes' last words hadn't been whispered in his ear, Roy would still be doing everything he's doing now. 

When Roy looks again, Elysia has abandoned the play equipment and is standing by a tree.

"Look! Mama! A baby lizard!" 

"It's a skink," Gracia replies. "That one's a grown-up, that's just the size it grows to. Like some dogs are very little and some are very big, even when they're fully grown. It all depends what type they are."

Elysia doesn't reply, but a moment later Gracia adds quickly: "No, don't try and touch it, pumpkin - it might get scared, and then its tail will fall off."

"Its tail falls off?" The young voice sounds both horrified and awed. 

"Uh huh. That way, if a bird grabs it by the tail to try and eat it, it can drop its tail and run away. The bird might eat the tail, but the skink will be all right, and eventually it will grow a new tail." 

"It grows back? Wow!" 

Roy looks over to see both Gracia and Elysia crouched down at the base of the tree. The little girl has her hair in pigtails and is wearing red overalls, bright as a flame to Roy's fractured vision. 

"Can I keep it, Mama? As a pet?" 

"I don't think that's a very good idea, baby. Georgio would probably try and eat it."

"Cats eat lizards?" 

"Some do, yes. Probably safer to let this little guy live out here, where there are lots of things for him to eat, and lots of places to hide."

"What does he eat?" 

"I'm not sure. Probably insects. Perhaps we can look it up when we get home?" 

"Yes, yes!" Elysia agrees enthusiastically. 

Roy loves how eager to learn she is, how interested she is in the world around her. She reminds him so much of Maes at times like this it takes his breath away. 

His time runs out all too quickly, and though he wants to stay for as long as they're here, he forces himself to stand and turn away. He stretches out his legs, the muscles having cooled during his break, and then slowly jogs back to the path. 

For a moment he thinks he hears a faint "Roy?" come from behind him and his stride falters, but he pushes on without turning back. Odds are he's just misheard, anyway - there's nobody here who should even remember his name. Roy disappeared from their lives years ago like the ghost that he is, unwilling to bring them any further heartbreak. 

When Roy gets home he pulls off his running shoes and then pads over to the chest of drawers next to the bed. He pulls open the top drawer and takes out the small wooden box he keeps hidden in the back corner behind the clothing, lifting the lid and gently scooping the contents into his hand. The chain clinks faintly, the metal cool in his palm. He finds one of the tags, runs the pad of his finger over the smooth face of it. He can no longer read the words embossed into the metal, but his fingertips can just make out the letters, already knowing what they are: HUGHES, MAES. 

He closes his fist around the tag, feeling the edges bite into his fingers. The dull pain of it feels good, a physical manifestation of the gnawing ache that resides in his chest. He gently untangles the chain with his fingers and then loops it over his head, feeling the familiar weight settle on his chest. It's an indulgence, he knows, but one he sometimes allows himself when the grief or loneliness bites deep and cold. 

Roy's Tuesday evening is quiet. He never works Tuesdays, giving himself a break after the stresses of the day. He heats himself a can of minestrone for dinner, takes a seat on his ratty old couch, and slowly works his way through the soup while listening to the latest newscasts on his phone. Once he's done with current events he scans for something else to pique his interest, the AI listing the infocast titles impassively as he flips from category to category. He finally finds one that discusses the human potential for exploring and colonising the stars - something Ed would like, he thinks. If it's any good, maybe he can tell Ed about it tomorrow. Roy sets it playing and stretches out on the couch to listen, eyes closed, fingers toying with the dogtags on his chest. 

Later, Roy sleeps through the entire night.

* * *

Ed's distracted all morning. His attention during his lectures is woeful, and several times Al has to poke him with the end of his pen to bring Ed's attention back to the topic at hand or to answer a question.

By lunchtime, even Ling, ultimate prince of self-absorption, has noticed. He makes a verbal dig at Ed and Ed snaps back, and Al and Lan Fan have to intervene before the squabbling turns into a full-on fight in the middle of the cafeteria. At the end of it, Ed can't even remember the comment that set him off. Knowing Ling it was something about his love life, though. 

It's possible Ed's a bit sensitive about that topic right now.

On one hand, he wants to tell everyone about Roy. He wants to sing Roy's praises from the rooftops, tell everyone how amazing he is, and how fantastic he made Ed feel. He wants everyone to know how lucky he is to have had Roy for the few hours they were together, and how much he's looking forward to Wednesday when they can be together again. 

On the other hand, Roy is a hooker, and Ed _hired_ him, and that's not the sort of thing you brag about - unless you're a certain sort of asshole that Ed isn't. Wednesday night with Roy isn't a date, and Roy's not potential boyfriend material. Roy probably wouldn't even be interested in hanging out with Ed if he wasn't being paid for it.

All in all, Ed's kind of conflicted, and it's not exactly something he can discuss with his friends - especially since he hasn't even come out to anyone but Al, yet. So he resolves to keep his head down, his mouth shut, ignore Ling's digs about what might have him so distracted, and try to focus on his afternoon work instead.

After their classes are finished, he suggests casually to Al that they walk a different way home, check out some new scenery. If Al suspects he has an ulterior motive, he's kind enough to not to mention it.

But Roy's corner is empty when they pass. Ed looks for him as they pass each of the nearby alleys, but sees no sign of him at all. Ed's not sure whether he's disappointed or relieved. Part of him wanted to see Roy again, but at the same time, he's not sure how he would have felt if he'd had have come across Roy with another guy - especially if Roy was on his knees at the time. The sting of jealousy the thought provokes startles him, and Ed decides he's rather glad Roy wasn't here this evening after all.

When they get home Ed collapses into a boneless puddle on the couch. Al kindly tells him to stay there while he goes to prepare dinner. Unfortunately, the couch isn't very helpful in regards to _not_ thinking about Roy, considering what the two of them had done there the previous night, and Ed's dick stirs hopefully at the memory. Ed groans and tries to rein in his ridiculous libido - he's supposed to be eighteen, not a kid in the throes of puberty.

Halfway through dinner Ed remembers abruptly that he has no supplies to cook for Roy tomorrow. Al aborts his freak-out by calmly forcing him to finish his meal, then getting both their coats on and nudging Ed in the direction of the supermarket. There, Ed proceeds to dither over the options, unable to decide what to prepare.

"Should I cook him something Xingese? I mean, he's from Xing. Well, no, he's from Amestris - but I figure one of his parents was from Xing, right? And I cooked him stir fry - the one Mei always says I do wrong - so maybe he was offended that I didn't cook it right? He didn't say anything, but he wouldn't, he's polite. Or maybe he really just didn't care? Maybe I should cook him something traditionally Amestrian? Like, something we learned in Risembool? Except that might be too boring for someone who grew up in the city. And I'm supposed to avoid garlic, right? That's a thing, if you're planning on kissing someone? Augh, I don't know, how am I supposed to know what he'd like? Al, help!" 

"I'm sure he'll like anything you make for him, brother," Al says, the embodiment of brotherly patience. 

"Maybe I should just get ingredients for a few different things, and give him a choice?"

"Good idea, let's do that," Al agrees soothingly. "I'm sure we'll be able to use anything left over to cook for ourselves for the next few days. Or we could just invite Ling around."

Ed snorts. Ling would eat them out of house and home if they had him over more than once a week.

In the end Ed ends up throwing things into his trolley almost at random, relatively sure he has enough meat, vegetables and staples to cover most of the things he knows how to cook. Of the two of them, Al's the one who really appreciates food - Ed likes just about anything hot and filling. 

When they get home Ed throws together a simple but tasty marinade and applies it to the oyster blade steaks he grabbed, figuring he might as well be prepared. Once that's done he contemplates preparing something else as well, just in case, before Al shoos him out of the kitchen and tells him to go and have a bath to try and relax.

Ed agrees gratefully, runs it as hot as he can stand, and sinks deep into the water. Slowly it leeches the aches from his tired muscles and his storm of thoughts subsides into something calmer. After his bath he re-attaches his arm but doesn't bother with the leg, using his forearm crutches to get around the apartment.

"Are you all right, brother?" Al asks after they've both flopped in the lounge. Al has a textbook open on his lap, having been attempting to study. Ed's using his as a somewhat less-than-comfortable pillow, hoping to absorb the information by osmosis.

Ed sighs dramatically. "I dunno, Al."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"Isn't much more to tell than what you already dragged outta me this morning," Ed says. "I just… I want it to go well tomorrow. I want him to enjoy it." 

"You sound as if you like him very much."

"I do. He's awesome, Al. He was good to me."

"I'm glad he was good to you, brother, you deserve it," Al says, but Ed can hear the concern in his voice again.

"Buuuut?" Ed prods.

"I'm just worried that you might be getting attached to him, in a way that he can't reciprocate."

"I know," Ed sighs. "I know I sound like a stupid kid with a crush. But I haven't forgotten what he is, Al. I know we're not dating, that it's just a job to him. But I like him. A lot. And if this is the only way I can see him again, I'll take it."

"Is seeing him again likely to make you want something you can't have even more?" Al asks shrewdly. 

"I dunno…" Ed shrugs helplessly. "I mean, yeah - it'll probably make it harder in the long run. But there are still things I haven't done yet, and I want to do them with him. He's special. I dunno how to explain it exactly." 

"I understand," Al says, and Ed meets his eyes and knows that he does, Al's empathy reflected back at him clear and bright. Ed really does have the best brother in the universe. "Just… please be careful, all right? I don't want to see you hurt." 

Ed nods. "I'll be careful, I promise."

"And please use protection. I have some condoms if you need them."

"Oh my god, _Al!_ "

 

When Ed finally falls into bed his mind is exhausted, but his body is kind of wound up. Not really that surprising, since he's been thinking of Roy on and off all day. He resolves to ignore the heat pooling in his groin but only makes it a few minutes before he gives in, his hand slipping into his shorts, stroking himself languidly. He closes his eyes and remembers the way Roy looked at him. Remembers the way Roy touched him, licked at him and sucked him. He drags his foreskin up over the head and back down, fingers pressing just where he likes it most, and imagines it's Roy's hand on him instead of his own.

He lasts an embarrassingly short amount of time, and then has to go hunting for tissues.

* * *

Roy wakes up on Wednesday morning with an odd feeling in his stomach. He tries to ignore it as he gets up and goes about his morning routine. He's used to a background feeling of antipathy whenever he has to return to his evening work after a day off, especially when having to work on a Wednesday - he often takes the day off, depending on how well he's done the previous week. A working Wednesday usually means that funds are running low, and that he may have to agree to acts he otherwise wouldn't, to earn a quick extra boost of cash. Definitely not something he looks forward to. 

But this Wednesday it's something else entirely. It's not antipathy, or aversion, or any of the usual feelings that weigh his stomach down like he's swallowed lead.

It's _anticipation_.

He's actually looking forward to the evening. It's been so long since he's had anything to look forward to - other than his illicit voyeurism at the park, which causes him as much guilt as joy - that he's just about forgotten what it feels like. 

He's certainly never looked forward to whoring himself out for the night. There have been times when he's dreaded it less than others, when he's had evenings booked with regulars who he knows will treat him with at least a basic level of courtesy and respect, but it's never been something he's _wanted_ to do. 

It's a dangerous thing to feel, and he tries to push it aside, remind himself that it's just another job. The fact that Ed is somebody he likes - or could perhaps more than like, if he had the chance - shouldn't make any difference. There can't ever be anything more between them, and even letting himself imagine it is dangerous. 

Roy tries to focus on his daily routine. Wednesdays are for cleaning and tidying the house, doing washing, and any other miscellaneous chores which don't require leaving the building.

While he's hanging his washing on the rack, Hawkeye texts. Roy responds without thinking too much about it - daily proof of life requested and delivered. But something in Roy's answer must encourage her, because she cautiously tries to engage him in a back and forth conversation, and for once, Roy allows himself to be drawn in. She slips him scraps of information about how the others are doing: about Falman's sweet new girlfriend and how Breda's already running bets on when he's going to propose, how Feury's been developing new digital communication protocols and is line for a promotion. It hurts to hear their names, to know that they've shifted their loyalties to another, but Roy is still glad to hear that they're doing well. And of all people, he trusts Hawkeye with their lives.

Roy doesn't say much in return - he doesn't have anything resembling a life to talk about. But the exchange makes him remember the days they'd spent together as a unit and the moments of comradeship in between the horror, and even though remembering sets off the ache in his chest, he's still glad to have the memories. Eventually he can feel the emotions starting to claw their way up his throat, and he tells Hawkeye he has to sign off for the day. In a rare gesture, he thanks her for checking in on him. 

Roy showers and shaves, towels off his hair. His relatively upbeat mood lasts until he's pawing through his clothing, trying to decide what to wear. That's when he realises what he's doing: he's acting like he's preparing for a date. 

This is _not a date_ , he tells himself severely. He's being paid to provide somebody else with sexual pleasure; thinking about it any other way is setting himself up for disaster. He forces himself to stop for a moment and focus, to lock down all the feelings threatening to get control of him one by one, until there's a layer of numbness between himself and the box of tangled emotions locked away inside of him. After a few minutes and some slow, steady breathing, he's regained something of his usual composure. 

In the end he wears the same pair of jeans as the previous day, the first t-shirt he grabbed out of the drawer, and, as an afterthought, a jacket. After all, it's not like he's trying to impress anyone.

* * *

Wednesday dawns, and Ed wakes up with the same feeling he gets on birthdays and festive days, the excited flutter in his stomach that promises that the day will bring good things. He's actually out of bed on time, and doesn't have to scramble madly to ensure he doesn't make them late. 

Al notices, of course, but is kind enough not to comment on the cause. He simply congratulates Ed on his newfound dedication to punctuality. Ed glares and tosses a balled-up sock in his direction. 

Wednesday classes drag interminably. Ed fidgets his way through them, and Al has to cover for him more than once. When they've finished for the day Al hugs him and wishes him good luck, before heading off hand in hand with Mei. 

Ed hurries straight home, runs through a shower and then tries to find something nice to wear. He knows it's sort of pointless when the whole idea of the evening is to get _out_ of their clothes as quickly as possible, but a part of him wants to at least appear decent when he picks Roy up. He braids his hair this time, the weight of it down his back somehow comforting. 

Ed walks back to Roy's corner, his stomach fluttering when he spots the lean figure beneath the lamp post from a block away. But Roy doesn't seem to recognise Ed until he's almost close enough to reach out and touch, and then he startles slightly.

"Uh, hi," Ed says, feeling stupidly nervous.

"Good evening," Roy replies. "I'm sorry, I expected you to be coming from the other direction." He tilts his head slightly and looks Ed up and down. "What happened to the red coat?"

Ed looks down at himself. He'd actually borrowed a jacket of Al's in a more sedate brown, feeling like his usual red was somehow too boisterous for the chilled image he'd been hoping to present.

"Uh, I just thought it was kind of…" Ed trails off, feeling flustered. "I dunno. Is this one no good?"

"This one is nice," Roy says. "But I liked the red better. The colour suits you: it's bright and vivid, like you."

Ed flushes, pleased. "Um, thanks," he says. He finally notices that Roy is wearing a jacket tonight as well, something utilitarian in navy blue. Ed is glad to see that Roy's actually looking after himself this evening, that he wasn't cold and shivering while waiting for Ed to appear.

"I like your jacket, too," Ed says.

"Thankyou." Roy smiles at him, but it doesn't quite seem to reach his eyes. "Shall we?" 

"Yeah, let's go," Ed enthuses. 

Together, they head back to Ed's apartment for a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much Roy/Ed interaction in this chapter, sorry! I'm afraid this chapter might come across as a little dull in comparison to the last, but I wanted to give Roy's life some context (before it all goes to hell) and thought it was important Ed and Al got some time to talk, too. Coming out is pretty stressful even when your people are supportive! 
> 
> Next chapter shouldn't be far behind this one, at least. Thankyou so much for all the kudos and comments, guys! I treasure every one, and whenever I get frustrated with my writing I go back and read them and then dive back in again. I've never actually focused on a single project for this long, and _enjoyed_ it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy is prickly; Ed discovers new and interesting things about prostates; Roy looks at the stars, but not through a telescope; and Ed does some patching up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to post once a week - this chapter took me two, but it's also 17k words, which is pretty much two chapters for the price of one. It should probably have been broken up, but I wrote it all out of order, and now I just want it posted so I can get on with the next part, where the ~~fun~~ traumatic stuff starts. 
> 
> This chapter is the last of the initial "getting to know you" arc. If you're just here for the fluff and smut, this is the last chapter for you, sorry!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has kudoed and commented, I really really really appreciate it!

When they get back to the apartment, the first thing Ed does is switch on the heat, then he ditches the jacket, boots and gloves. Roy follows him in, doing a quick side-to-side scan of the room, before shedding his coat and hanging it carefully on an empty peg. Roy bends to untie his laces, and Ed takes a moment to admire the curve of his spine through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and the way his fingers move so precisely. Everything about Roy's body and the way he uses it is appealing, and Ed has to drag his attention away. 

Ed leads the way to the lounge and gestures for Roy to make himself comfortable. 

"Payment up front," he declares, and heads off to the safe where he and Al keep their emergency cash. He grabs a handful and counts it out, putting the rest back. The stash is down to about half of where it usually is - he'll have to restock if he wants to keep hiring Roy like this, which he very much hopes to do. 

Even if he's only a client to Roy, he can at least be a client that Roy can actually feel good with. He can be someone who looks out for Roy as much as he can, who takes the time to be kind to him when they're together. He gets the feeling that Roy doesn't have nearly enough of that sort of contact in his life.

When Ed returns Roy is still standing straight-backed in the middle of the room, and for the first time Ed can see a hint of the soldier in him. He has the brief temptation to say 'at ease' to see if Roy relaxes, but he's pretty sure that reminding Roy of his military days is a fucking bad plan for all sorts of reasons, so for once he keeps his mouth shut. 

"Speaking of payment," Roy says, as Ed hands him the folded notes. "I believe you overpaid me for our previous encounter."

"Ah..." Ed says, rubbing the back of of his neck sheepishly. "Is there a rule against tipping?" 

Roy frowns. "Not as such, no. However, most people don't tip until they've at least had a sample of the service being provided."

Ed shrugs. "I figured you knew what you were doing, and hey! I was right."

The look Roy gives him indicates that he doesn't entirely believe this statement, and Ed tries not to squirm. 

"Ok, ok, I sort of had an ulterior motive, too," Ed says, and sees Roy's expression go carefully blank. He hurries to explain. 

"So me and Al have some money, and we're kinda pissed at the person who gave it to us - particularly because of the _reason_ he gave it to us. Well, ok, me more than Al, but Al's _way_ too forgiving. Anyway, spending it on something he'd disapprove of is the perfect 'fuck you', so I figured that if I was going to do it, I might as well go the whole way."

From his expression, Roy can't seem to decide whether to be perplexed, appalled or amused by this information. "You paid me extra just to aggravate somebody who _gave_ you money?" He asks, as if needing to confirm what he'd thought he'd just heard. 

"Well, yeah," Ed says. "He's an asshole."

Roy doesn't quite seem to know what to say to that. "So am I to assume you've tipped on today's payment as well?" 

"Uh, yeah? Is that ok?" 

"Far be it from me to stand in the way of a 'fuck you' to somebody who sounds like they deserve it," Roy says, shrugging and pocketing the cash. 

Ed almost sags with relief - he thought he'd screwed things up for a moment there. But Roy seems to have bought his explanation, thank god. It was the truth, of course, but not the whole truth. While a 'fuck you' to Hoenheim would have been worth it on its own, Ed had also figured that the more money Roy made from him, the less time he'd have to spend out in the cold working. He'd have happily offered Roy double what he'd asked - it's not like Ed can't afford it, after all - but he was pretty sure Roy wouldn't take it. Roy seems like the sort to reject any hint of charity or pity outright, holding stiffly onto his pride even at his own expense. 

Ed can understand where he's coming from, though. He hates people offering to help him because of the arm and leg. Anything he can't do with the replacement limbs he figures out other ways around. He doesn't want or need anyone's pity. 

"You hungry?" Ed asks. 

"You don't need to wine and dine me, Ed. I'm a sure thing." Roy smiles, but there's an edge of cynicism to it. 

Ed frowns at the implication. "I'm not tryna bribe you, or seduce you or something. I gotta cook for me anyway, and it's just as easy to make it for two as for one. And anyway, it's good manners to look after a guest."

"I'm hardly a guest," Roy says, tapping the pocket his wad of notes had disappeared into as if to remind Ed he had been bought and paid for. 

"Yes you are," Ed argues, not seeing how payment changes the fact that it was his invitation that brought Roy here. "I asked you here, that makes you my guest." Ed is confused and a little frustrated; he doesn't understand why Roy is resisting again, after he'd seemed to enjoy the meal last time. "And I want to do it, I don't just feel obliged or anything."

Roy looks at him cooly for a few moments, and then shrugs, as if it doesn't much matter to him. "If you wish us to eat, then we shall eat," he says. The words sound like he's giving in but his tone is barbed, and Ed wonders what's going on here that he's missed. 

"All right then. Is steak ok?" Ed asks. "There's vegetables too, ready to roast."

"Steak? Oh, Ed, are you trying to impress me?" Roy asks. 

"No," Ed frowns. "It's something I make for me and Al all the time." Ed honestly hadn't been thinking of trying to impress Roy, he'd just wanted to find something he'd like and fill him up with solid food. He looks at Roy uncertainly. "I can make something else if you'd rather?" 

"No, please don't change your plans on my account," Roy says. 

The words are polite enough but the tone borders on belligerent, and Ed has no idea what's going on or what to do about it. He hopes that if he can actually get Roy to eat, maybe he'll chill a little. 

Ed turns the oven on and gets the pans he needs ready on the stove, then brushes the vegetables with a seasoning of oil and herbs. 

Roy leans back against the dining table, silently watching him the same way he had last time - but last time the silence hadn't felt so fraught.

Once the oven's heated, Ed slides in the pan of vegetables in and sets the timer.

There's half an hour to kill after that, so Ed tries to get the conversation flowing the way it had the last time, but Roy seems reluctant to engage with him, and when he does his responses are cynical or smug. While what he's saying is little different - he's still polite and not being directly antagonistic - his tone gives a different edge to the words entirely, and his expression is closed off. He no longer seems interested in the things Ed has to say, and the kindness that Ed had seen in him even before they'd taken off their clothes seems to be muted, missing.

"Did I do something wrong?" Ed asks, when he can't stand it any longer. 

Roy raises an eyebrow. "Not that I'm aware of. Why do you ask?" 

Ed tries not to simply blurt: _you were nicer to me last time_. He doesn't want to sound like a six year old with hurt feelings. "You're acting differently," he says, trying to sound calm and reasonable. "Like you don't want to talk to me any more, or something."

"I thought I was being paid for sex, not conversation," Roy smirks. 

"You know what I mean," Ed says, determined not to be derailed. "You're acting like an ass, trying to make me not like you any more. I just wanna know why. What did I do?"

Roy looks slightly uncomfortable at being called on his behaviour. "I'm sorry," he says eventually. "I'm afraid it's my fault. Last time I was here I wasn't expecting to see you again, so I was… freer than I would have normally been with a client."

"You don't see anyone more than once?" Ed asks. 

"Ah, no. That is, I do. But those I see regularly…" Roy pauses, seeming to struggle for words. "They understand where the boundaries between us lie and don't try and cross them. Because of your inexperience, you crossed some of those boundaries, and I failed to enforce them."

"Boundaries like you participating? And coming?" 

"I was thinking more along the lines of emotional boundaries, but those things are part of it, yes. I'm afraid I may have given you the wrong impression, with some of the things I said and did. Although I was intending to be kind, the result may have been rather the opposite - and I'm sorry." Roy's gaze has dropped to the tabletop, his expression uncomfortable. "I know that it's easy for the lines between physical and emotional fulfilment to blur sometimes, and as a result, sometimes clients can get... emotionally attached to people like me, who take care of their physical needs."

"Look, I know you think I'm naive," Ed says. "And I know I haven't had all that much experience with sex and stuff. But I'm not stupid. I know this is just a job for you. I know that this isn't a relationship, and isn't going to turn into one. So if that's what you're worrying about - if that's why you're trying to push me away - you don't have to."

Roy looks up at Ed in surprise, and Ed feels a little satisfaction. Ed knows he's inexperienced, but that doesn't mean he can't work things out for himself. 

"I want to have sex with you because it feels good and I trust you to take care of me," Ed says. "I want you to enjoy yourself too because it's more fun for both of us that way. It doesn't mean I'm going to go thinking this is more than it is, all right?" 

"All right," Roy agrees carefully. "As long as we're on the same page, and have the same expectations." 

"Yeah. No expectations other than having a good time, right?" 

Ed can see how wary Roy is, how much his instincts are urging him to be cautious. But Roy doesn't need to be, not with him. Ed's not going to push for anything that Roy genuinely doesn't want. 

Roy finally nods. "As long as you understand that the relationship between us will remain strictly professional even if we are to act with a certain level of casualness and familiarity."

"I understand," Ed says. "So does that mean we can go back to the way we were last time? When we talked and you actually relaxed and smiled occasionally and stuff?" 

"I suppose there isn't much point in trying to re-establish lines that have already been so thoroughly crossed," Roy says, a little ruefully. "Barn doors and bolted horses, and so on."

Ed kicks Roy's ankle gently with his socked toes. "Good. Now stop being snarkily polite at me, and start just being Roy again."

There's no immediately change, but Roy's mouth slowly softens as the conversation starts back up again. It's still kind of awkward at first - Roy's obviously trying to figure out just how close to allow himself, not entirely willing to forego the prickly facade just yet - but Ed would rather genuine awkwardness than the deliberately edged politeness thing that was happening earlier. 

Ed has to take a brief time out to cook the steaks and serve everything up, but when he's done it looks and smells pretty damn good, if he says so himself.

"There," Ed says, putting a plate in front of Roy. "Eat." 

Roy obediently starts on his meal.

"Well?" Ed demands, after watching him take a few mouthfuls.

"You're quite a cook," Roy admits. "This is very good."

Ed grins, pleased that Roy's enjoying his food. "Yeah! Not exactly a master chef or anything, but Al and I keep ourselves fed pretty well."

The conversation seems to flow a little easier over food, and Roy relaxes another fraction. Roy eats slowly and carefully, and Ed has to force himself to slow down to match his pace, having a tendency to bolt his food. 

Ed starts ranting about the most recent sci fi book he read and all the completely implausible science in it, and Roy winces at all the right places. In return, Roy tells Ed about an infocast he listened to about colonising the stars, which gets Ed waving his fork about excitedly as they debate what might be possible in their lifetime.

When they've both finished eating Roy helps Ed clear the dishes, and then stops in the middle of the room and looks to Ed expectantly. "Toothbrush time?" There's a note of amusement in the question that Ed is pretty damn thrilled to hear. That's the Roy that had been here last time - the one that would tease him, and the one Ed hopes to connect with again. 

"Toothbrush time," Ed says firmly, playing it straight, and leads the way to the bathroom.

Roy's purple toothbrush has been returned to the rack, and Ed catches a flicker of some emotion cross Roy's face in the mirror as he sees it. Surprise, Ed thinks, but something else as well that he can't quite interpret. 

After they've both done their brushing, Ed leads them back to the lounge. He figures Roy might need a little time for his food to settle before they get down to business. 

"Wanna chill a bit?" 

"Whatever you like," Roy says. "The evening is yours."

Roy takes a seat on the couch and makes himself comfortable, while Ed wanders over to the bookcase and runs his gaze idly over the titles. 

"Ok, if you're looking for _good_ science fiction, here are my recs." Ed proceeds to ramble about his favourite books as Roy appears to listen with apparent interest. Roy's read a couple on Ed's must-read list, which pleases him - he likes the idea of them having things in common, makes him think they could maybe be friends. 

"Oh, oh, this one!" Ed says excitedly, pulling it off the shelf. He crosses back to the couch and hands it to Roy to read the blurb. 

Roy takes the book after a moment of what seems almost like reluctance. He looks at the cover for a moment, and then back up at Ed, without flipping it over. 

"Tell me about it?" Roy asks instead. 

"The back's not spoily," Ed says, in case that's what Roy's worried about. 

Roy gives him a smile, but there's something not quite right about it. "I wasn't worried about that. I just enjoy hearing you describe things. Your enthusiasm is infectious." He sounds sincere, and Ed takes the compliment with a little rush of happiness. 

So Ed flops on the other couch and gives him an overview of the story - a tale of human colonisation on what turns out to be a psychically-reactive planet. It actually blurs the lines between sci fi, fantasy and paranormal, managing to weave the elements of the different genres into a reasonably coherent framework. 

Roy seems intrigued, asking several questions about elements Ed mentioned. 

"Do you wanna borrow it?" Ed asks impulsively. He loves sharing the things he enjoys with other people, and as a bonus, figures it'd give them something to talk about next time they meet up. 

But Roy's expression closes off abruptly at the suggestion, and Ed wonders what he said wrong this time. 

"It is a very kind offer, but I don't think it's a good idea. Who knows when - or if - I'd be able to return it."

"That's ok," Ed shrugs. "You can keep it if you want. I can always get another copy."

This makes Roy look even more uncomfortable, and Ed mentally cringes. He hates putting his foot in it, especially when he can't even tell what he's said wrong. Maybe Roy thinks Ed's showing off how easily he can buy new things, like he's rich or something? But that hadn't been his intention at all. Ed just likes doing nice things for people he cares about - only somehow he keeps messing it up with Roy. 

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid I can't accept." Roy holds the book out in Ed's direction. 

Disappointed, Ed takes it back and slots it back into the shelf. While he knows that Roy's rejection of his gift isn't a rejection of _him_ , it still stings a little, and he has to try and mentally kick himself back into a happier mood.

When he turns around again Roy is behind him, and reaches out to take Ed's hands in his. His hand is warm around the hand Ed can feel. 

"I appreciate that you treat me like a person." 

It's the most sincere thing Roy's said so far today, and while Ed appreciates the fact that Roy's finally being open with him, he's also confused about what provoked it. 

"I don't get it. Why wouldn't I treat you like a person?" 

Roy smiles. "That is precisely what I mean."

Ed frowns. It's not like he's been treating Roy specially or anything - he pretty much treats everyone the same, just with people he likes he makes more of an effort not say anything excessively stupid or irritating. The idea that anyone would treat a hooker as something less than a human being makes his stomach tighten with anger. The idea that anyone would do it to _Roy_ \- who is kind and thoughtful and thinks little enough of himself already - makes him want to set people on fire.

"Some people are assholes. Don't thank me just for not being one of them, " Ed says, disgruntled. 

In response, Roy tugs him closer, slides a hand behind his head, leans down and kisses him. 

Well, Ed's certainly not going to complain about the direction Roy's choosing to head in. Ed presses back against him, wrapping his arms around Roy's waist for balance and pushing himself up onto his toes for a little extra height. He hadn't realised quite how much shorter than Roy he was - he guesses last time they hadn't done any kissing standing up. 

He'd forgotten how freaking good at this Roy was. Roy starts the kiss slow, just a slick slide of lips against his own, and then slowly gets more heated. Ed's no expert but he's more confident than he was last time, being an active participant rather than just following Roy's lead.

Roy breaks off after a few minutes, his breath a little fast. Ed finally notices that there's a mark on Roy's neck, just at the collar of his t-shirt, and it suddenly occurs to him that _he_ put it there. It's only faint, the fading purple remains of a hickey, but he remembers Roy telling Ed to suck harder, and a sudden rush of heat spreads through him. 

Roy runs the fingers of one hand around the shell of Ed's ear and down his neck, looking at him intently.

"May I lift you?" Roy asks. 

"Uh…" 

"I won't move you far," Roy assures him. 

"Sure, why not," Ed says, willing to try anything once. He brings his arms up to wrap loosely around Roy's neck, ready in case he needs to hold on. 

Roy slides his hands down to Ed's ass, gets a good grip, and then hoists him into the air. Ed automatically lifts his knees to either side of Roy's body, wrapping his good leg around Roy's waist. Roy grunts slightly as he has to work harder than he expected to hold Ed aloft. 

"Heavier than I look, huh?" Ed grins. "Lotta metal attached to me. Some in me, too."

"Nothing I can't handle," Roy smirks. He moves them past the bookcase and then presses Ed back against the wall beside it, using his own body to hold Ed there. 

It's an entirely new feeling for Ed, being picked up and manhandled like this. It's the sort of thing he'd hated as a kid - people had sometimes picked him up or messed with him because he'd been so small compared to the other kids. Later, when he'd lost his limbs, he'd sometimes been carried by orderlies or nurses when they'd decided it was less effort than fetching him a wheelchair, and Ed hated how helpless it had made him feel. 

But this. This, on the other hand, is actually pretty fucking fun. Ed trusts Roy not to do anything unexpected with him. Ed also really rather likes the feeling of being pressed between Roy's body and the wall, being trapped in a way that really kind of turns him on. Also, with his thighs hitched over Roy's hips he's higher than Roy, and having to tip his head down to kiss is an unexpected novelty. 

Roy scraps his teeth against Ed's lower lip and squeezes his handfuls of ass. 

"Fuck," Ed mutters. His dick is pressed hard against Roy's stomach, and he tries to get enough leverage to push his hips forward to get some friction. 

Roy looks amused. "Want something?" 

Roy presses him slightly harder against the wall and then one of his hands disappears from beneath Ed's ass and works its way between their bodies, until Roy can cup him with his hand and squeeze. It's awkward - Roy's hand is on entirely the wrong angle - but it's enough to make Ed groan in appreciation. 

He also wants to reciprocate, but there's no way he can reach from where he currently is.

"Wanna move this to the bedroom?" Ed asks hopefully. 

"Certainly," Roy says, with a smouldering grin that promises very awesome things in Ed's immediate future. 

Roy steps back and lowers Ed carefully back down to the ground, making sure he has his balance before releasing him.

Ed turns and heads for the bedroom, but realises after a moment that Roy isn't following. Puzzled, he heads back the other way, to find Roy in the entrance hall. Roy's got a hand in the pocket of his navy jacket, pulling out what it takes Ed a moment to realise is a small bottle of lube and a strip of condoms. 

"I didn't know if you'd have supplies," Roy says, "So I took the liberty of bringing some." 

"Ah!" Ed flushes slightly, remembering the very awkward handover with his brother. "Al gave me condoms. But I kind of forgot about lube."

"You _really_ don't want to forget about lube," Roy says wryly, brandishing the bottle in Ed's direction. 

Ed grins, even as his stomach does a little flip, realising that he's actually about to have sex for real. It's sort of been an abstract concept up until now, but tonight it's going to become a reality. A part of him is nervous, but it's eclipsed by the heat of anticipation in his stomach. 

"We don't have to use them just because I brought them," Roy adds. "But it's better to have them and not need them than the other way around."

"I want to. Use them, I mean."

"Then we can," Roy says, and gestures for Ed to lead the way.

Ed leads Roy to the bedroom, flips on the lamp and takes a seat on the bed. His room is a lot neater this time, the bed properly made. 

Roy doesn't hesitate, making his way over to Ed directly. Ed pushes himself back further onto the bed to give Roy room, and Roy uses the opening to climb on and just keep going until he's kneeling spread across Ed's lap. Ed's never really had a lapful of guy before, and while he's a little daunted by the fact that the position gives Roy even more height over him, it does make portions of Roy's body readily available. He runs his hands down Roy's back to his ass, and Roy presses back into his hands. Given this encouragement, Ed takes the opportunity to knead the firm globes through the denim, and, getting a little daring, lets the fingertips of his good hand run down the crack between them. He can feel the heat between Roy's legs even through the denim. 

"Mmmm," Roy says. "Is that what you'd like?"

Ed blinks at him, his brain not exactly firing on all cylinders with Roy practically grinding in his lap and distracting him. "Huh?"

Roy smiles - the affectionate smile, not the cynical one, so Ed doesn't mind at all. "Do you want to fuck me, Ed?" Roy asks.

"Um," Ed says. "I don't know." 

Roy swings himself off Ed's lap to sit beside him, seeming to sense that Ed needs a little space if he's to discuss anything in a rational fashion right now. Ed reaches down to adjust himself in his pants, his erection jammed pretty firmly against the front of them.

"What would you like to do this evening, Ed?" 

"Well, I dunno. I kind of like everything we've done, so far. What do you wanna do?"

"I'm sure we've had this conversation," Roy says, and then reaches to tuck an escaped lock of hair behind Ed's ear, the gesture softening the words. "I'm here to make sure you have a good time, remember? That means you get to choose. You seemed interested in penetration, yes?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd like to try that."

"Do you have a preference as to which role you'd like to take? Top or bottom?"

It's a question that Ed's had floating around the back of his mind for the last two days. He wants to try both, of course - he's hungry for experiences he hasn't had, and wants to know what it feels like on both sides of the equation. But he's definitely more nervous about taking the bottom role. Doing the penetrating, he thinks, will come sort of naturally. When he was on top of Roy, his body's instinct was to thrust into him, and if the feeling of it is anything like the tight, slick heat of Roy's mouth, he's pretty sure he's going to enjoy the hell out of it. If he doesn't come in the first thirty seconds, he'll consider it a miracle.

Bottoming, on the other hand, he doesn't really have a context for. He's never had the urge to mess around with his own ass while getting himself off, and can't imagine that it feels particularly good. But taking the role is appealing not because of what he'll get out of it, but because of what Roy will - Ed wants Roy to feel good, to get pleasure from the act. Ed's pretty sure that Roy hasn't got much out of sex in a while, and that's something he really has an issue with. Roy deserves better. Roy deserves to have someone who wants to please him as much as he makes sure to please his partner. 

So he's a little torn on the issue, not sure which way to swing, so to speak.

"Which do you prefer to do?" Ed asks, hoping that perhaps Roy will tip him one way or the other. 

"I've enjoyed both," Roy says. Ed notes the past tense, and wonders if it means Roy no longer enjoys either at all. He hopes not; hopes that it's just that Roy hasn't had someone who cared about making sure he enjoyed it too. Roy looks thoughtful for a moment, and then adds: "It very much depends on the situation and the person I'm with, as to which role I prefer."

"Why does the situation make a difference?" Ed asks, puzzled. 

"When I was younger and in the military, it was much easier to be with female partners, in which case I was doing the penetration, for obvious reasons. So when I had the opportunity to be with other men, I preferred that they penetrate me, because I missed the feeling. These days, it's the other way around. I haven't been with a woman in a long time, and when I'm working, I'm always on the bottom, so topping would be more of a novelty." 

Ed contemplates all of this. Roy _wanted_ other men to penetrate him, when he had the choice?

"So, does that mean you actually _like_ being on the bottom?" Ed asks dubiously. "Or, I mean, you used to, at least?" 

"Yes. Why?" 

"I dunno. It just doesn't seem like…" Ed falters, embarrassed. "I mean, it doesn't seem like it'd be much fun. I just figured it was something guys did to make their partners happy."

Roy smiles at him, but his amusement is gentle. "Not at all," he says. "Bottoming can be very physically enjoyable, with the right partner." 

Ed looks at Roy even more dubiously. He doesn't think Roy would lie to him, but at the same time, he can't see how having something stuck up their ass would be something anyone chose to have happen to them, for _fun_. 

"Ed, what do you know about your prostate?" Roy asks. 

"It's an endocrine gland of the male reproductive system which surrounds the urethra and produces a fluid which comprises approximately 30% of semen." 

Roy stares at him for a few moments. "Let me try that again. What do you know about your prostate that _doesn't_ come from a biology textbook?" 

Ed thinks for a moment and then shrugs. "Nothing. What more is there to know?" 

"Actually, there are a few things that weren't in your textbook that are relevant to this particular discussion," Roy says. The corners of his mouth are pressed together as though he's suppressing a smile, and Ed wonders if Roy's making fun of his naivety.

"Many men find stimulation of the prostate to be extremely enjoyable. It can be pressed or rubbed through the anal wall. You can do it to yourself, or have someone else do it to you with their fingers or cock or with toys. Prostate stimulation can feel a little like orgasm itself, and some men can actually climax from it alone. Combining that sort of stimulation with masturbation or oral sex can result in extremely deep, intense orgasms." 

Ed drinks in this new information with the fascination he always has for new knowledge. It puts a very different spin on things - if it actually feels good, that would make the act a lot more mutual than he'd been thinking it'd be. 

"And that's why you like it?"

Roy nods. "That's why I like it. Not the only reason, but a big one. I promise you - those who prefer to bottom aren't doing it simply out of a sense of altruism."

"I see," Ed says, still adjusting his worldview in accordance with this new information. Roy makes it sound pretty fucking fantastic, but Ed's still not entirely sure he's not exaggerating, just a little.

"Will you let me show you?" Roy asks. 

"What?" Although Ed had planned to bottom for Roy at some point, he's still slightly alarmed at the thought of it happening right _now_. "You want to fuck me?" He asks uncertainly. 

"Just with fingers," Roy says. "Gently, to show you what it can feel like. If you don't like it, I'll stop immediately and we won't go any further in that direction, I promise."

This seems like a more than fair offer, and while Ed's still slightly hesitant, he figures he's going to want to try it sooner or later. Better that it happens now, with someone he trusts to be careful with him.

"Ok. I guess. What do I have to do?" 

"Well, taking off your pants would probably be a good start," Roy says, amused.

Ed rolls his eyes, but gets to work shedding his clothes. It's easier this time - still not _easy_ , because it's going to take a lot longer than a couple of nights for him to get to that level of comfort with his body being on display - but at least tonight his heart isn't trying to hammer its way through his ribs. Once he's naked he sits and waits for Roy's next instruction, not sure how to go about this new endeavour.

Roy's removed his clothes at the same time, and even though Ed's sad to see the denim go - his ass really does look amazing in it - getting to see Roy naked more than makes up for it. His gaze drops to Roy's burned expanse of skin, the sight of it oddly reassuring, even though he wishes Roy hadn't had to go through it, of course. But it makes Roy feel more real, somehow. Connection through disfigurement, Ed thinks, a touch wryly. Maybe he is more than a little weird. 

"Are you nervous?" Roy asks.

Ed shakes his head, trying for a casual expression. "Nah." The fact that he's only half-hard now probably gives him away, though.

Roy runs his hands from Ed's neck outwards over his shoulders, sliding over the rig of his prosthetic as casually as he does the bare skin of the other. "Your body says otherwise; you're tense. Here, lie down with me."

Roy lies down facing towards him, and Ed does the same in reverse. Roy leans in close, slides an arm around Ed's waist, and presses his mouth gently to Ed's. Now _this_ is something Ed's totally down with. He joins in enthusiastically, shuffling forward until his body's pressed against Roy's from chest to hips, legs tangling together, his arm around Roy's neck. Roy's tongue laps at his lip and Ed opens his mouth to allow him entrance. 

Ed remembers what Roy had said the previous evening, that the guys who hire him aren't into _making out_. Ed simply can't understand why - sure, sex is awesome, but making out feels great too, just in a different way. Being close to Roy like this, holding and being held by him, kissing and rubbing and feeling their bare skin slide against each other's - it's a symphony of sensation that gets Ed tingling from head to toe. 

It's not long before the tension has eased from Ed's body and his dick is completely on board with the proceedings again. Feeling Roy hard against his hip in turn is both arousing and a relief; Roy had seemed turned on by Ed's body last time, but Ed couldn't help the faint, lingering fear that Roy had only been humouring him, that this time he wouldn't bother. But the way Roy's hips are rubbing his dick against Ed's body with deliberate little thrusts indicates that Roy's just as hungry for this as Ed is.

"Roll onto your back for me?" Roy asks, in between mouthing at Ed's neck. 

Ed thinks that asking him to follow verbal instructions while being distracted like that is a little unfair, but after a few moments he obediently rolls onto his back. Roy finally stops molesting his neck, sitting up and touching the inside of Ed's thigh to encourage him to spread his legs. When he does, Roy settles himself between Ed's knees. Ed can't help but tense slightly. 

"I won't do anything without warning you first," Roy says, gently sliding a hand up and down Ed's thigh. "And nothing I do should hurt. If it does, you need to tell me, because it means something is wrong. All right?"

"Ok," Ed says, trying to force himself to relax. Roy hasn't done anything to hurt him yet - in fact, Roy hasn't done anything that hasn't ended up feeling pretty fucking fantastic, so Ed is inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Is it ok if I go down on you?" Roy asks.

"Sure," Ed says, slightly confused, not sure if Roy's changing the plan on him or if this is all part of the lead-up.

"It'll help you relax," Roy says. "And you being relaxed will make it easier for both of us."

"Ok," Ed says, still slightly uncertain. "Just don't stick anything in me without warning me first."

Roy smiles at him, then leans down to nuzzle at the base of his dick. "I won't, I promise."

Roy's mouth has Ed moaning in moments, and he throws an arm over his face to better focus on the sensations Roy is provoking. Roy's hand slides up the inside of his thigh, thumb circling spirals into his skin, while his tongue drags wetly over the head of Ed's dick whenever he pulls up. It's not long before Ed's loose-limbed and relaxed, happy to let Roy suck him for as long as he's willing. 

He's a little disappointed when Roy's mouth suddenly disappears, having forgotten that this was only a prelude. Ed looks down to see what's going on, to find Roy with the bottle of lube, drizzling some onto his fingers. A little of the languidness disappears, the lube reminding him of exactly what Roy's intending to do with his fingers.

"Is it all right if I touch you? Just on the outside at first. The lube might be a little cold, but it'll warm up pretty quickly."

"Sure," Ed says, trusting Roy to do only what he says he'll do. Roy's been awesome in that regard so far.

The first touch of Roy's slick fingers between his asscheeks makes Ed twitch, having never been touched in that region by anyone else before. It's strange and Ed's not really sure if he likes the feeling or not. Roy's fingers run slowly up and down his crack, over his asshole but not paying any particular attention to it, until Ed finally starts relaxing despite himself. 

Eventually one of Roy's fingers slides to his asshole to toy with it, running around the pucker in a little circle, not trying to push in, just massaging and playing gently until Ed's used to the feel of it. It's not bad, Ed has to admit, just different. The whole area feels kind of sensitised, after having had Roy's fingers' attention so focused on it. 

"Are you ready? I'll go slowly, and you can tell me to stop at any time."

"Ok," Ed says, sounding slightly breathless, a combination of nerves and arousal. "Go for it."

Roy adds more lube to his hand, and then Ed feels the pad of his finger pressing against him, and tenses up automatically. 

The next thing he knows his dick is engulfed in warm wetness as Roy takes him back into his mouth. The distraction is pretty effective, Ed unable to keep his focus just on his ass with Roy's tongue dragging up his length, sucking as he goes. He groans, the pleasure radiating out from his groin.

Ed's aware of the pressure against his asshole increasing, and then the tip of Roy's finger slips slickly inside of him, and Ed automatically tries to pull away from the invasion before he manages to make himself be still again. Roy holds his hand where it is, not pushing any further, letting Ed get used to the sensation. 

"Do you want me to keep going?" Roy asks.

"Yeah," Ed says. Might as well get it over with.

The pressure increases again as Roy pushes his finger in a little further. The sensation is strange and slightly uncomfortable and so far Ed's not particularly enraptured by it. The feeling of having something pushing _into_ him is alien, and has his body giving him all kinds of alert signals, none of them happy.

And then Roy pushes in just a little further and does _something_ and sensation suddenly radiates out from somewhere deep inside of him - so intense it takes him a moment to work out whether it's pleasure or pain. Ed's hips come up off the bed and he makes a small, startled sound. He's not even sure how to describe the feeling - it's a little like the feeling he gets right before he comes, when everything feels so good that it's almost overwhelming. 

"There we go," Roy says, tone soothing. "That's what I was looking for." He gives Ed a few moments to settle, before asking: "More?"

Ed nods, unable to make a coherent reply. 

Roy's finger presses into the same place again, rubbing gently in small circles, and Ed hears himself whimper as the pleasure rolls through him. He grabs the wrist of Roy's free hand, needing to hold onto something.

"Oh, fuck!" 

"Told you," Roy says, and Ed thinks the smugness in his tone is definitely justified in this case. Prostates are fucking awesome. Biology textbooks really should mention this kind of thing along with basic functionality. 

Roy keeps massaging the same little place as Ed spreads his legs as wide as he can, wanting more of it. 

"Do you believe me now? That bottoming isn't just about the top feeling good?"

"Fuck yes," Ed breathes. 

Roy laughs, and Ed might resent him for it a little if he wasn't so completely loving Roy's fingers right now. 

Ed's half lost in the sensations his body is being flooded with, but Roy's question has the small part of his brain that's still functioning suddenly ticking over. Now that he gets why someone might actually _want_ a cock up his ass, he can't help but imagine Roy's dick in place of his finger. How much better would it be, knowing that Roy was getting as much pleasure out of it as he was?

He remembers Roy admitting how long it had been since he'd penetrated anybody, that these days it would be a novelty, and suddenly wants to give that to him.

"Roy, will you do it?"

Roy's hand stills. "Do what?" He asks.

"Will you fuck me for real?"

Roy is silent for a few moments, and then he withdraws his finger and wipes his hand on his discarded t-shirt. "Are you sure that's what you want? It would be easier for you to top the first time, to learn how it all works."

Ed knows that it'd be easier to top Roy. He damn well wants to, too - just imagining being inside Roy, how tight and hot he must be, has Ed's dick throbbing. But the idea of Roy being inside him is just as awesome, for different reasons. He likes the idea of Roy lying on top of him, pressing into him, gentle and sure, hitting that place inside of him. He likes the idea of his body making Roy feel good at the same time.

And there's something inside of him that's whispering that it needs to be this way around, that it wouldn't be right to fuck Roy here and now like this. Ed doesn't know what makes him think that, couldn't articulate it if he tried, but it's an instinct that he's inclined to trust. He might be the inexperienced one here, but he somehow knows that Roy is the more vulnerable one, even if he doesn't know why. 

"Yeah, it's what I want. Will you do it?"

"Are you _sure_?" Roy persists, and the way he asks it makes Ed even more certain of his choice.

"Yeah. Please, Roy?"

"All right."

Ed feels a spike of nervous anticipation, knowing he's actually going to be fucked for the first time. It's not like he thinks losing your virginity is this precious, magical event where fireworks go off above the bed or anything, but he wants it to be something worth remembering. 

"Do you want to keep these on?" Roy places a gentle hand on Ed's thigh, strokes it briefly with his thumb. Ed's still amazed at how casually Roy touches the prosthetics, without hesitation or apparent discomfort.

"Yeah, it'll make it easier," Ed says. "It's just kind of awkward otherwise." He'd like to try it without the limbs some time, he thinks. It'd be freeing to be unencumbered by the technology attached to him, but he'd also be much more vulnerable, and he's not sure he could cope with that during his first time. It's not that he thinks he's going to need to fight or run away; but keeping that option open is sort of reassuring, like a safety blanket.

"So how do we, uh, go about this?" Ed asks. 

"First you should decide what position you want to be in."

Ed wrinkles his forehead. "Thought we decided I'm bottom?" 

Roy smiles at him. "Yes, but that still leaves us a number of options as to physical positioning: do you want to do it face to face or front to back? Face-down, hands and knees, both of us on our sides, or you sitting on top? There's a lot of different combinations we could try."

Ed's eyes widen at this range of possibilities. He hadn't really thought about it beyond who stuck what in where. "Uh, what would you recommend?" 

"For your first time it's probably easier if I'm behind you. It'll also be easier if I'm in the driver's seat, so to speak, so you don't have to worry about moving. So that means it would be easiest if you lie on your front, on your hands and knees, or on your side."

"What do you like best? When it's you being, uh, penetrated?" 

"It's all good, with the right person," Roy says. "But it might be easiest for you if you lie on your front. That way there won't be any pressure on your limbs." 

Ed contemplates this and realises what Roy's saying - on his hands and knees he'd have to put his weight on both sockets, since he's missing both knee and elbow. While he could do it fairly easily, friction could be a problem if he was being pushed back and forth a bunch.

"Ok, so, on my front. Do I just lie down?"

"When you're ready. We can work up to it if you're not quite ready yet."

"I'm ready," Ed says, trying for bravado but not entirely sure he makes it.

He flops onto his stomach, feeling slightly self-conscious about his ass being on full display. But Roy looks up and down the length of Ed's body and his breath catches. 

"You're gorgeous," Roy mutters. "I can't believe you want--" He shuts his mouth abruptly, as if not having realised he was speaking aloud. 

Roy runs a hand down Ed's back and over one of the mounds of his ass, squeezing the underside, and Ed tenses slightly. 

"Just relax," Roy says. "I'm not going to do anything to you without telling you first, I promise." 

Roy gives Ed a moment to calm himself down and then continues: "The first step is to get you stretched out - it's particularly important if you're inexperienced. When people are nervous, they automatically tense up, and that makes everything tighter. If someone tries to force themselves into you when you're like that it can be quite painful, and possibly do damage. So my job is to get you relaxed and stretched, so that I can slide in easily, ok?" 

"Ok," Ed agrees. Pain and damage are pretty much exactly what he wants to avoid, but he trusts Roy not to let that happen. There's something in Roy's tone, though, that makes Ed think he's speaking from personal experience. "Is that… have you had that happen to you?" Ed asks, concerned for Roy's wellbeing.

"Not all of my experiences have been ideal," Roy says, and Ed gets the impression that Roy's rather understating the matter. "My first time being penetrated involved spit for lube and no prep whatsoever. I'll make sure yours is less uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry," Ed says, not knowing what else to say. He hates the idea that someone was so thoughtless with Roy, especially when he was just an inexperienced kid. "That sucks."

"No need to be," Roy says, in the tone of voice that indicates he doesn't really want to talk about it any further. Ed hears Roy flip open the cap of the lube. "Are you ready to begin?"

"Yeah."

Roy's hand flattens out over one of Ed's shoulder blades, his palm warm against Ed's bare skin. "Remember, you can ask me to stop at any time. If you don't like this particular act, there are plenty of other things we can try."

"Ok."

Roy's cool fingers start exploring him again, running from his asshole down to his balls and back up again. Ed closes his eyes, concentrating on the sensations.

"I'm just going to use one finger now, the same as before."

Roy's finger presses against his hole, and even knowing that it's going to feel good, Ed still has to fight not to tense up and resist the threat of intrusion. Ed feels Roy's free hand come to rest on the back of his neck, squeeze gently, and then start sliding slowly up and down his back. The soothing touch helps him relax the rest of the way, and Roy's finger slides into him. 

Roy grazes his prostate lightly, barely a caress, and Ed makes a sound of discontent at the tease, wriggling his ass to try and make Roy do it properly. Roy chuckles and firms his touch, and Ed makes a sound like a contented cat.

"I'm going to add another one, all right? It'll be a little tight at first, but it shouldn't hurt."

"Ok."

Roy pushes another finger through the tight ring of muscle, and there's a few moments of discomfort before Ed gets used to the sensation and relaxes again. He can feel the stretch of the muscles around Roy's fingers, and it's strange but he sort of likes the feeling as well.

"You're doing well. Ready for one more?"

"Sure," Ed says. 

The third finger makes Ed shift uncomfortably before his body begins to adjust, the fingers inside him not just taking up space now, but actually holding him open. Roy slowly pushes them further, until they're in to the widest part. 

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Feels kinda weird. But not bad."

Roy crooks his fingers and Ed muffles a moan against the bedclothes. "Ok, feels pretty damn good, actually."

"Do you think you're ready for me now?"

Ed has no idea whether he's stretched enough or not - this is all new to him. But if Roy's not worrying about doing more prep, then Ed figures he's good. Roy wouldn't risk hurting him. "Yeah. Let's do it."

"All right." 

Roy's fingers pull out of him, leaving him feeling oddly empty. Ed hadn't really expected to get used to the feeling of having something inside of him so fast, but now that it's gone, Ed kind of wants it back. It's a good sign, he figures. 

A few moments later Ed hears the rip of the foil packet behind him, and somehow knowing that Roy's putting a condom on himself makes the whole thing feel real. Roy does another round with the lube - both his own dick and Ed's ass again. Ed guesses that Roy was serious about lube being pretty damn important.

Then Roy is moving to straddle Ed's thighs, folding down to press his lips to Ed's temple, his elbows resting outside of Ed's shoulders. "Are you all right?"

Ed twists to look back over his shoulder as well as he's able to, and Roy moves to press a gentle kiss to his mouth.

"Yeah, I'm good," Ed says. "Go for it, whenever you're ready."

Then one of Roy's hands disappears, and Ed can feel Roy's dick being guided between his asscheeks. The blunt pressure against his asshole makes him want to tense, but Ed's got the hang of deliberately relaxing those muscles now, even when his body's not exactly sure. The pressure increases, until the head of Roy's dick slides in almost abruptly, and Roy freezes. Roy's dick is stretching Ed wider than his fingers had, but it doesn't actually hurt.

"It can take a little time to adjust. Tell me when you want me to move."

"Keep going," Ed says. 

Roy pushes in further, slowly but steadily, until there's a sudden spark of pain somewhere inside of him and Ed hisses. Roy stops immediately.

"It'll fade," Roy assures him. "But I won't move until you tell me to."

Roy's right - it doesn't take long before his insides adjust to the invasion and the discomfort starts to die down. "I'm ok," Ed says, once it's disappeared entirely. "Keep going."

Roy does, and it's not long before Roy's weight is resting on his ass, and Roy's in as deep as he can go. 

"There we go," Roy murmurs. "How does it feel?"

"Weird," Ed says, trying to work out exactly what it is he's feeling. He definitely feels full, and spread open, and while both are unfamiliar, it's actually not weird in a bad way. "But good." It hits him then, that Roy is actually _inside_ of his body - they're as physically close as two humans can get. Roy's front is pressed against the length of his back, Roy's legs alongside his own, and Ed can hear the faint rasp of Roy's breath by his ear. 

"Do you want me to move?"

"Yeah!"

Roy rolls his hips, pulls out a little way and then pushes back in, making a small sound of pleasure that suddenly pulls Ed out of his absorption in own body's sensations and reminds him that Roy is feeling just as much from his side of things. Ed feels a sudden flush of satisfaction and pleasure, knowing that his body is making Roy feel good.

"What's it feel like for you?" Ed asks curiously.

"You're warm, and so tight… feels amazing," Roy says, pulling further out this time and then pushing in a little faster this time. "Hang on, let me…" Ed can feel Roy adjusting his position over Ed's body, and then when he pushes back in again, there's the burst of pleasure that Roy's fingers had provoked earlier.

"Oh, fuck!" Ed automatically pushes his hips up against Roy, seeking more of the sensation, and when Roy comes back down against him, their bodies meet with the sound of slapping flesh.

"Let me," Roy murmurs, as Ed's clumsy movements throw Roy off his rhythm, and Ed makes himself lie still and let Roy control the ride. 

Once Roy gets back into the rhythm, he's hitting Ed's prostate with every thrust and Ed finds himself making low, repeated moans of pleasure, the sort of which he never expected to hear come out of his own throat. The solidness and friction inside of him and Roy's body heavy and warm on top of his combine to feel better than he'd imagined it ever could. 

"Good?" Roy asks, dropping his head to rest his forehead against the nape of Ed's neck. Ed can feel Roy's breath against his back. 

"Fuck, yes. Don't stop!" 

Roy chuckles breathlessly. "I won't."

There is silence for a little while, other than the sound of skin on skin, and the gasps and moans of Ed's enjoyment. Roy is quiet for the most part, but every so often Ed catches his breath stutter or a soft groan, the sounds getting Ed even more wound up, knowing Roy is feeling just as good, too. 

Ed loves feeling Roy inside him like this. It's not just the prostate thing, either, it's everything combined: the stretch of his ass around Roy's dick and the feel of it taking up space inside him as it slides in and out; Roy moving over him, his weight on Ed's back and hips; being pressed skin to skin from neck to knees. It's hot and sweaty and glorious in every way. 

Above him, Roy snaps his hips a little faster, and then breathes out a short sound Ed realises is his name. Ed shivers from head to toe. He feels amazing, like every nerve is being set alight, pleasure rolling through him in near-continuous waves. But no matter how good he feels himself, knowing that Roy is losing himself in the pleasure of Ed's body is the biggest buzz of all.

* * *

It's been years since Roy'd fucked anyone, and he'd forgotten how exquisite it could be, sinking into the tight, slick heat of somebody else's body. Roy could hardly believe that Ed had offered himself up like that - face down, ass up, head pillowed on his folded arm - obviously nervous but determined to charge in full-steam-ahead, as always. 

Roy is still stunned that it was _him_ Ed wanted to do this - that he was so adamant that it be _Roy_ who shared this with him. For so long Roy's been just another body, interchangeable with any of the other men who sell themselves for the night. It's been forever since somebody's wanted _him_. 

As for Roy, he needn't have worried about being able to perform. Once Ed had stripped himself and spread his legs, trusting Roy to show him how good his body could feel, Roy had gone from turned on to achingly hard. 

But Roy wasn't here for his own pleasure; he was determined to make this good for Ed. Forcing himself to go slow and let Ed adjust had been close to torment, the urge to simply bury himself in Ed's ass nearly overwhelming. But once Ed had relaxed and given him the go-ahead, Roy had sunk in to the hilt, Roy's hips meeting Ed's backside, and it had been divine. 

Rocking into Ed is as close to perfect a feeling as anything he's experienced in a long time. Hearing Ed moan and whimper beneath him, knowing that it's his body that's introducing Ed to this new experience of pleasure, is beyond a turn-on.

Roy buries his face against Ed's neck as he thrusts into him, his mouth hovering over the warm, sweaty skin, breathing hard. 

"Good?" Roy asks.

"Fuck, yeah!" 

Roy can feel Ed press up against him, and reach back to tug Roy's hip down. Roy gives in to the unspoken request, increasing his pace and going a little harder. 

Roy can feel himself getting closer, but he doesn't want it to end yet, wants to give Ed something more. He remembers a trick Maes used to pull when he had Roy face-down beneath him; Roy's never had the chance to try it with anyone else, but Ed is small enough for Roy to be able to manhandle him fairly easily. 

Roy presses a knee between Ed's thighs; is gratified when Ed spreads his legs immediately in response. Roy settles himself between them, unable to resist giving another couple of thrusts, able to get just a little deeper like this. Beneath him, Ed groans and grips at the bedcovers with his hand. 

"Can I move you?" Roy asks.

"Yeah, sure," Ed says, sounding slightly dazed. Roy suspects he'd agree to just about anything Roy suggested right now, and he's lucky that Roy would never take advantage of it.

"Tell me if your leg hurts, at all," Roy says, and Ed nods.

Roy grips Ed tightly around the chest and waist and hauls him upright until they're both on their knees, then brings them back down until Roy's ass is between his heels, with Ed pretty much in his lap. Ed's weight rests on Roy's thighs, his back pressed to Roy's chest. 

Gravity basically impales Ed on Roy's cock, pressing Roy into him even deeper than before, and Ed gasps.

"Oh, _fuck_!"

"You ok?"

"Yeah, s'good, fuck!"

Holding Ed around his waist, Roy slowly draws out of him a little way and pushes back up and in, settling back into a rhythm. It's not the easiest position to maintain, and there's a low burn in his thighs that he's going to feel later, but it does have one advantage. He slides one hand down Ed's abdomen and takes Ed's cock in his hand, grasping it firmly and giving it a squeeze.

" _Please_ ," Ed breathes, his head falling back against Roy's shoulder.

Roy strokes Ed in time with his thrusts, and Ed whimpers and writhes against him, clutching at the arm locked around his middle. He can't seem to decide whether to push into Roy's hand or back down onto his cock. Roy can hear Ed's breath coming faster, knows he's close. 

"Roy, fuck-- I can't stop it--"

"Come when you're ready, Ed," Roy says, slightly unsteadily. He isn't all that far away himself.

Ed stiffens against him almost immediately, fingers tightening on Roy's arm, and then he cries out as his cock pulses and spills over Roy's hand. Roy can feel Ed's ass clench around him repeatedly as the orgasm slams through him, and he groans at the additional tightness and heat surrounding his cock. Roy slows back down to a gentle rocking as he eases Ed through it.

"Ed, I'm nearly there… do you want me to come in you, or would you rather I finished myself?"

"Are you kidding? You'd better fucking come in me - I wanna feel it!"

Roy gasps a laugh at Ed's irrepressible enthusiasm, and then lets himself seek the friction he's desperate for within Ed's body, thrusting up into him hard and fast as he approaches the edge. 

His orgasm crashes into him like a freight train, and he holds onto Ed's body tightly to prevent being swept away with it. He's only dimly aware that he's pressed Ed forward onto his hands and knees as his body shudders, cock spurting repeatedly. He can't remember ever coming this hard, the aftershocks hitting him again and again. He knows he's making some kind of sound, but it's pretty much out of his control. 

When he finally regains some kind of control, Roy withdraws, moving around to Ed's side. He tugs the condom off and ties it up, grabbing a tissue from the bedside table to wrap it in, and tosses it into the waste basket nearby.

"Wow," Ed says, flopping onto his side, looking disheveled but sated, and rather pleased with himself and the world in general. 

Roy moves up beside him and collapses, exhausted, hair damp at his temples. He'd forgotten how much work it was to top. 

Ed shifts closer to him, looking uncertain. "Is it ok if I, uh... "

Roy remembers how overwhelming it can be, to feel someone inside you for the first time. Coming down from that kind of high can be quite a crash, if there's no one there to catch you. As much as Roy suspects that letting Ed snuggle with him is sending the wrong message, he doesn't want him to feel rejected or cut adrift, either. 

"Sure." Roy lifts his arm in invitation and Ed snuggles in happily against him, warm and sweaty. 

"Are you all right?" Roy asks, settling his arm around Ed. "How do you feel?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine. I feel pretty fucking awesome," Ed says, suddenly regaining something resembling coherence and becoming animated. "That was _amazing_. Never felt anything like it before… being fucked inside and outside at the same time, oh my god, so fucking intense - there's no way I could have stopped myself coming, not once you started jerking me off as well. Prostates are great, why the hell didn't anyone tell me about them before? And when you come in me, I could actually feel it, kinda throbbing - that was so cool! I liked the way you were holding onto me, too - like you really needed me." Ed pulls back a little way so he can look at Roy, expression serious. "Are _you_ okay?" 

"I'm fine," Roy says, and he's not even sure how much of a lie it is right now. He actually feels good, and feeling anything at all after fucking instead of the usual numbness and disconnection is pretty amazing. He doesn't know if it's because he was on the other side of things this evening, or because it was Ed he was with. He suspects a little of both.

"Thanks for taking it slow, and looking after me," Ed says. "I don't think many people get a first time that epic."

"You're more than welcome," Roy says. "I'd like to say that anyone else would do the same, but unfortunately far too many men are only concerned with their own pleasure." Roy can't quite help the note of bitterness in his tone. 

"I know," Ed says earnestly. "That's why I'm so glad it was you."

Roy's not sure what to say to that, so remains silent. 

Ed tucks himself back into Roy's side, the prosthetic arm draped across Roy's chest. Roy finds himself running his fingers along the grooves of it, over the wrist joint to the slope of Ed's hand, tracing the lengths of his fingers. 

He stops as soon as he notices what he's doing. "Sorry," he says, embarrassed. "Sometimes I fiddle with things without realising." 

It's something Roy started doing when he was completely blind - identifying objects and finding his way around by touch. After enough of his vision returned not to be entirely reliant on his hands any more, he still found himself seeking out the stimulation of haptic input, especially interesting textures and shapes. It isn't usually a problem, except when he loses himself in the sensation entirely and forgets about the world around him. He suspects it's another manifestation of the damage done to his brain, but doesn't know for sure. 

"I don't mind," Ed says. "It's kind of nice, actually. Most people are afraid to touch it. But you touch it just like you touch the rest of me." He nudges his artificial hand against Roy's, and Roy lets his fingers resume their careful exploration.

They laze together for a while, until Ed drags himself from the bed to go and get himself some water. He comes back with two glasses, and Roy takes one gratefully, downing the contents.

"Do you think you're ready to go again?" Roy asks, setting the glass on the bedside table.

Ed cradles his glass between his hands, expression thoughtful. "Would it be ok if we didn't? Do it again, I mean."

"Of course," Roy says. "You're in charge here, Ed. You get to decide what you want to do."

Ed nods, but looks a little worried. "Will you still stay, though? If we don't have more sex?"

"You paid for my whole evening, Ed. I'm here as long as you want me, regardless of what you choose to do."

Ed looks relieved at this, and Roy frowns, concerned. "Are you all right? Are you sore? I didn't hurt you accidentally, did I?" 

Ed shakes his head. "I'm not sore, I promise. I'm fine." Then he shrugs a shoulder, looking slightly embarrassed. "It's just that what we did - it was a lot. I mean…" Ed looks frustrated as he gropes for the words for what he's feeling. "It was kinda intense. And fucking awesome! But I just sort of wanted more to time to think about it, you know?" 

Roy can understand that. Sometimes brains just need time to process - to put things into context and make sense of them fully. He nods, encouraging Ed to go on. 

"I mean, if we did anything else tonight, then it'd sorta distract me from what we did earlier. And I want to hold on to it just as it is for a little while. You ever do that? Hold on to a good thing in your head?"

Roy hasn't exactly had a lot of good things in his life lately to hold on to. But there are a few tattered memories that he keeps hidden in the dark recesses of his mind, that he occasionally digs out to lose himself in when he needs to be somewhere other than his current shitshow of a life. Unfortunately, even the few good memories he has come with as much pain as they do happiness - there isn't much in his life he hasn't lost.

"Sometimes," Roy says. 

"And I know that next time, if we do it the other way round, it'll be another good thing that I can add to the pile. So I get something to look forward to, as well." Ed shrugs, looking a little self-conscious. "Maybe it's stupid, I dunno."

"It's not stupid," Roy says. "Not many people are as self-aware as you. Or as patient."

Ed snorts, looking amused. "Not many people would call _me_ patient."

"Perhaps they just don't know you well enough." 

Ed smiles at this, obviously pleased. "And you'll still stay?"

"I'll stay, for now." Roy can't promise him the whole night - he's not going to risk falling asleep again - but simply spending time with Ed isn't exactly arduous. Especially considering what he'd be doing otherwise. 

"Hey, want to go up to the roof, look at the stars? Should be a pretty good view tonight."

It's been a long time since Roy's bothered to look up at the night sky. All he can see is a charcoal sweep of darkness, with vague smudges of lighter grey and occasional glints - picking out individual stars or patterns is beyond his capabilities. But Ed's looking at him hopefully, and any thought Roy had of resisting crumbles. "Al right," he says. "If you'd like."

Ed leads him to the front hall, where he insists that Roy put on his jacket with a tone of voice that implies that Roy is somehow deficient when it comes to taking care of himself. It reminds him oddly of Hawkeye. Roy obediently pulls on his jacket as Ed does the same with his coat. Ed's switched back to the red one, Roy notes, pleased. Red is the easiest colour for him to see, standing out vividly against most backdrops and attracting his brain's attention immediately. 

Ed leads him out of the apartment and back to the lift, which they take up to the top floor. The lift opens into a corridor with a solid metal door at the end, behind which is a flight of stairs. 

Roy mentally cringes. A dimly-lit stairwell is bad enough, but the stairs themselves are bare concrete of uniform grey, which makes them a nightmare - he simply can't see the edges. He fumbles for a handrail and thankfully finds one - that at least gives him a guide as to the height of the stairs as he goes. Sound also echoes off the bare surfaces sharply, making it easy for him to hear when Ed takes the first step and lift his foot at the same place. He ascends carefully in Ed's wake, feeling out each step to make sure his foot is solidly-placed before trusting it with his weight. He reaches the top without mishap and steps out into the cool of the night. 

The moon is reasonably bright above and the roof is also partially lit, several halogen lamps affixed to the sides of the stairway enclosure that juts up above the main roof level, providing overlapping areas of light. It's not enough for Roy to be able to see well - the intermixing jumble of light and shadow confusing to his sight, and all colours other than reds and yellows lost to him - but at least he's not completely blind. 

Roy has no idea what's on the roof of his own apartment building, but he imagines that it wouldn't be much except rubbish - food wrappers, discarded needles, used condoms. Ed's building, on the other hand, actually seems to have a functional rooftop. There are odd spindly shapes up one end that it takes Roy a few moments to make out as rotary clotheslines. There are also tables and chairs scattered around, and a squat, rectangular block that Roy guesses might be a barbecue.

Ed leads him over to an area nearby the railing on one side, where there is some kind of object that Roy can't make sense of. 

"One of the old dudes who's lived here, like, forever put it in. Al and I had to fix the alignment when we moved in, and we replaced the eyepiece because it was a piece of crap. It's not exactly the best telescope you'll ever use, but it's not bad."

Once Ed's identified the object for him, Roy can finally make out the shape of a solid metal telescope. He comes closer to look at the details, and can see that the stand is set into the concrete itself. That probably explains why it hasn't been stolen yet, but Roy's still surprised that it hasn't been broken long before now. 

Ed looks down through the eyepiece and tweaks the focus until he's happy. "Take a look!" He enthuses.

Roy reluctantly bends to look through the eyepiece. As expected, he can't see anything but darkness, with faint glittery smudges. He pretends to look for a little while, and then draws away to sit on the nearby bench.

"You don't want to look more?" Ed asks, sounding slightly disappointed.

"I'd rather you look, and tell me what you see." Ed's expression falls further, making it obvious that he thinks Roy is disinterested and simply humouring him. Impulsively, Roy adds: "I love to hear you describe things. Everything looks brighter through your eyes." It's very much not the sort of thing he'd usually say, at least with any sincerity - once upon a time glib lines of the sort had rolled easily from his tongue, but he hasn't tried to seduce a woman in years. Something about Ed seems to inspire these moments of almost painful honesty. 

But Roy can't regret it when Ed's smile reappears, his shoulders squaring a little more confidently. 

"All right," Ed says, settling into position at the telescope. "So the Raven's the easiest thing to find when you're first learning the stars, right? The three stars in a row for the left wing, and the one at right angles for the tail? Did you know that the raven's eye is a binary star? I always thought that was cool, since the Raven's supposed to be the Seer and everything."

Roy lies back on the bench, closing his eyes as he listens to Ed ramble about astronomy, occasionally making encouraging sounds or asking questions to let Ed know he's still listening. He hasn't thought about the stars in a long time, but Ed's descriptions bring back memories from his earlier life when he still had interest in the world around him. 

After a little while he feels movement beside him, and Ed stretches out to lie on the bench alongside him, their arms pressed together from shoulder to elbow.

"Is this ok?" Ed asks.

"Of course."

Ed picks up the thread of his ramble again. He's fairly well-versed in not just astronomy, but mythology, to Roy's surprise. Roy would have expected him to have dismissed mythology as unscientific, the uneducated ramblings of primitive man, but Ed seems to revel in the stories as much as the science. 

"The Hunter and the Horned God cycle is pretty epic, and will always be one of my favourites. But I also like the myths that try to explain the origins of stuff. I mean, even when they're nonsensical, it's still an interesting look at what people once believed. Like, the one that tells you how the Raven's feathers were blackened, after he tried to steal the star gem but got shut in the cave of flames and burned--"

Roy doesn't hear the rest. He's back in Ishval, hearing the screams of those he burned alive in their buildings, watching the tongues of flame lick higher and higher as the smell of charred flesh is carried on the wind. He tries to wrench his mind away, only to find himself trapped in a twisted wreck, and Roy feels the scorching heat of the flames devouring his belly and the screaming of burning nerves, his chest so tight he can barely draw breath. 

He doesn't know if he makes some kind of sound, but he hears Ed shift beside him. 

"Fuck, Roy, I'm sorry, that was stupid, I forgot--" Ed's voice is distraught.

And then Ed's hand is closing around Roy's, warm and solid, gripping tightly. The touch is grounding, anchoring him in the present, and Roy can suddenly breathe slightly more easily. Ed's voice is low and soothing, and even though Roy's not following what he's saying, the words are like a cool balm washing over him. 

It takes time, but eventually the phantom flames recede, and his breathing and heart-rate slow from their frantic pace into something more orderly and manageable.

"That was a total asshole thing to do - I'm really sorry, Roy," Ed says when Roy's calm again. Roy can hear the genuine upset in his tone. "You all right?" 

"I'm fine," Roy says, although there's a slight waver in his voice that indicates otherwise. 

Ed squeezes his hand and keeps holding on, firm and sure. "I won't do it again, I swear."

They lie there side by side, and slowly the adrenaline drains out of Roy's body. After coming down from a flashback he often feels disconnected - it's not entirely unpleasant, and he lets himself drift a little. The night air is cold on his face, the sky a dark drape above, the warm hand in his keeping him tethered to the ground. 

Ed's voice is soft beside him - occasionally pattering to life as some thought crosses his mind, before drifting into silence again, not seeming to need Roy to respond. Occasionally Roy catches flashes of movement as Ed gestures with his free hand, sweeping it across the sky above for emphasis of some random fact or other. It's nice, being with somebody like this - feeling the warmth of their body, imagining the same stories as they speak - a type of connection he hasn't had in far too long.

The shuffle of footsteps on concrete startle Roy back into his body. He scrambles to sit up, only to come face to face with an old woman, an empty washing basket on her hip, scowling at him. Her face is lined with age, her iron-grey hair mostly covered with a scarf.

Roy jerks his hand from Ed's immediately, bracing for the tirade to come. The need for discretion is so ingrained in him that being exposed like this makes his skin crawl, and he curses himself for letting his guard down, for forgetting this was a public space. While this old woman has no power over him, it's possible she could make life difficult for Ed, and Roy would hate for that to happen, especially on his account. 

"You!" She points a finger at Roy's chest, eyes narrowing. Roy holds her gaze, refusing to look away. Whatever slurs she's preparing to hurl, she can say them to his face. Roy's just glad that it looks like he's going to bear the brunt of the attack, and not Ed.

"Don't you even be thinking of stealing Elric brother from building." 

The old woman's accent is Drachman, thick and throaty. It takes Roy a few moments to parse the words, and when he finally does, he's still utterly confused as to the meaning. He knows he looks a little rough around the edges these days, but he can't imagine that the first thing anyone thinks when they look at him is 'kidnapper'. He also doesn't know any Elrics, although from context he guesses this may be Ed's surname. 

"I beg your pardon?" He asks, genuinely baffled. 

"Elric brothers very useful. To building, me, everybody here. No stealing away with handsome face and pretty mouth."

Roy blinks stupidly at this statement, trying to put the woman's words into some kind of context. It rather sounds like she's accusing him of attempting to seduce Ed, to lure him away with his wiles. That kind of accusation would generally come with the implication that he's some kind of sexual predator, but he's not getting that from her tone or words. 

"Hmm." The old woman frowns, seeming to mull something over. "On second thought, maybe you have this one, but leave tall brother here. Tall brother more polite. Also eat less."

Beside Roy, Ed makes a choking sound. 

The woman is still staring at Roy, as if expecting a response. 

"I, ah… I wasn't planning on stealing any Elric brothers," Roy tries, but the glare that descends upon him makes him squirm like he's suddenly sixteen all over again. "But, uh, if I was, I'm only to steal a maximum of one brother, and you'd prefer if I took this one." As an afterthought he adds: "Ma'am."

Ed makes another strangled sound, and Roy is dying to know what Ed's face is doing, except he doesn't dare look away from the old woman's piercing gaze. 

"Exactly this, yes," the woman says, turning her glare onto Ed. "This boy polite, too. You learn from this one, since not learn manners from tall brother." She swivels back to Roy without giving Ed a chance to respond. "You all right. Maybe you move in here, instead. Handsome face good to have around building. Nice to look at."

The old woman nods to herself, as if satisfied with this conclusion, and without further elaboration, shuffles off to the staircase entrance and disappears. 

Roy sits there staring after her for a few moments, somewhat stunned by this encounter. "I'm not entirely sure what just happened," he admits. 

Beside him, Ed starts absolutely cackling with laughter. 

"Oh my god!" Ed wheezes between fits of laughing. "She totally thinks you're going to lure me away with your irresistible hotness. That's so awesome!" 

Roy is not entirely sure what he feels about this assertion. He's used to being objectified - it's pretty much his job definition, after all - but not by Drachman women old enough to be his grandmother. Her casual disregard for the fact that both he and Ed are male has also rather flummoxed him. 

"That was… not how I expected that conversation to go," Roy says. "I thought she was going to have issues with, well, us." Roy waves a hand between Ed and himself.

"Nah! My neighbours love me," Ed grins. "That was Mrs Drozdova. She's kind of cranky, but she makes these great cheese pancake things, with like sour cream and berry or apple sauce on top."

" _Syrniki_ ," Roy says absently, remembering his time on the freezing Drachman border. "What did she mean, 'useful to the building'?" He asks. 

"Oh, me and Al fix things for people here all the time. Mechanical and electrical stuff mostly, but sometimes plumbing, woodwork, whatever. We did it a couple of times and then word got around, and now they just call us instead of the landlord. It's faster, and we do better work than the shoddy tradesmen he gets in half the time."

"I see," Roy says. He's not really surprised that Ed - and his brother, if he's anything like Ed - are popular in his building. Ed is so energetic and charismatic that it's impossible not to be drawn to him. He also cares about other people in a way that many others don't, wrapped up in their own petty lives. 

"Also, they pay us in food, so it works out pretty well," Ed says. 

Roy can't help but smirk at this. He's already worked out that Ed takes his food pretty seriously.

"So apparently Al is the polite one?" Roy says, unable to resist a little dig. 

Ed rolls his eyes. "I just say what I think, and some people don't appreciate that, for some reason. Al actually bothers to be tactful, and he's just so _nice_. Everyone likes Al best, pretty much."

Surprisingly, Roy can hear no resentment Ed's tone, just acknowledgement of what Ed believes to be a simple fact: Al is worthy of this honour. 

"Well, I haven't met your brother, so I'm not in a position to compare," Roy says. "But I can tell you that I'm rather taken with you just as you are - opinions and all." It's probably more than he should admit - actually, it's definitely more than he should admit - but he hates the idea of Ed thinking that he's somehow inferior or inadequate. 

Ed's smile is as radiant as the sun coming up over the horizon, his eyes crinkling happily. "Well, yeah, I'm great!" He grins at Roy cheekily. "And all right, you're pretty fucking awesome, too," Ed says, and despite the flippant tone, it's the most sincere compliment Roy's received in a long time. 

"Wanna head back in?" Ed asks. "S'getting kinda chilly."

"All right." 

Ed hoists himself to his feet, and then gestures for Roy to follow. "Hey, come this way. You can see all the way to Central Station!" 

While Roy isn't exactly going to be able to appreciate the view, Ed's enthusiasm is enough to get him up and following.

Unfortunately, the poor rooftop lighting finally takes its toll. Roy's foot catches on something he hasn't seen and there's a sick moment of vertigo when he knows he's going to fall but there's not a damn thing he can do to prevent it. He somehow manages to get his arms up to protect his face and then he lands hard, the concrete completely unforgiving. The palm of one hand burns and the other forearm and elbow jolt with pain from the force of the landing. Roy lies stunned for a moment, trying to get his rattled wits together. 

"Shit, Roy! You ok??" 

By the time Roy manages to push himself up into a sitting position, Ed has made it to his side and is crouching next to him, a hand on Roy's shoulder, expression concerned. 

"I'm fine," Roy says automatically, although in truth he feels rather shaky. The fall itself did little more than startle and bruise him, but tripping over things he can't even see always reminds him just how vulnerable he is. "My own fault. Wasn't watching where I was going," Roy lies. 

"It's a stupid step," Ed says with a scowl. "Not even a proper step, just an edge where the two slabs ended up at different heights. I should have warned you, I'm sorry - it's harder to see in the dark. I'm just used to stepping over it."

"It's fine," Roy says. "Don't worry about it." He contemplates getting up and decides that it might be prudent to remain seated for a few more moments, until he's stopped feeling quite so shaky. Falls are hardly new to him, but this one has rather rattled his confidence.

"Can I see your hand?" Ed asks. 

"It's really nothing," Roy protests. 

"Please?" 

Roy sighs and holds his hand out in Ed's direction, knowing that he's no match for Ed's stubbornness. Ed takes his hand gently, angling it to get the best light. Roy can see the smear of red on the heel of the palm where he's scraped the skin off. He's lucky he was wearing the jacket, or he would have lost skin on the other forearm and elbow as well.

"We should get that cleaned up," Ed says. 

"It's just a scrape," Roy says dismissively. "I'll wash it and it'll be fine."

"Any break in the skin is an opportunity for bacteria to enter your system," Ed admonishes. "God only knows what kind of shit's been evolving up here on the roof over the last fifty years, but I'm pretty sure it's nothing you want in you."

Roy has to concede that Ed's probably right in that regard. 

Ed sits with him on the roof for a little longer, giving him time to recover, and then says gently: "Come on, let's go back in."

"All right."

Roy slowly rises to his feet, still feeling slightly sick and shaky. Ed immediately puts an arm around his back, steadying him, and Roy lets his arm drape over Ed's shoulders. Roy is more grateful for the support than he'd like to admit. 

"This way," Ed says gently, guiding him back to the top of the stairs. Roy feels his stomach lurch at the idea of having to descend stairs he can't see when he's already feeling wobbly, but Ed helps hold him steady, and he uses the motions of Ed's body to help him judge when to step. 

Once they're safely locked back in Ed's apartment, Ed orders Roy to come with him to the bathroom, tone brooking no argument, seeming to channel Hawkeye once again. Roy takes the path of least resistance and obeys. 

When they get there, Ed flips the lid of the toilet down and points. 

While Roy takes a seat, Ed rummages through the bathroom cabinet, grabbing various bits and pieces and setting them out on the bench, ready. 

"Iodine," Ed says, as he tips some from a bottle onto a round cotton pad. "It'll sting."

Ed cradles Roy's hand in his prosthetic hand, using the other to dab extraordinarily gently at the scrape on Roy's palm until he's cleaned all the grit and dirt away and spread the yellowy liquid over all of the broken skin. It does sting, but Roy's had a lot worse, and he holds still without flinching. 

When Ed's satisfied, he opens a sterile packet of gauze, cuts the square in half and uses soft papery tape to affix it to Roy's palm. Then he opens a small roll of crepe bandage and starts winding it gently around Roy's hand, working above and below his thumb in turn. 

Something catches in Roy's throat. He can't remember the last time someone was this gentle with him, or took care of him like this. The nurses at the hospital weren't unkind when they treated his burns, but they were always perfunctory, impatient to get on to their next task. Roy was only ever a wound to them, never a person. 

But Ed is treating him as though he matters, as though Roy is someone worth caring about. Roy has to drop his head forward and close his eyes for a moment to try and recover some kind of equilibrium, to grasp for some emotional distance. It's ridiculous that this one small kindness has come this close to unravelling him - and yet here he is, with something that feels like a sob threatening to break loose inside his chest. He holds onto his composure grimly. He won't let this break him. 

"You ok?" Ed asks, running a hand gently down his upper arm. 

"Fine," Roy says a touch shortly. And then, more genuinely: "Thank you."

"Anything else hurt?" 

"Just bruises," Roy says. "And my dignity. No other scrapes."

"All right then. Couch and juice for you."

"Juice?" Roy asks. 

"Full of sucrose, it'll pick you up a bit. Plus a bit of extra vitamin C can't hurt."

Ed actually takes Roy by the undamaged hand as if he were a child and leads him back to the loungeroom, depositing him on the couch and heading off to potter in the kitchen. 

When he returns, he hands Roy a glass of orange juice, which Roy accepts. He takes a couple of sips; it's cold and tart, and does actually make him feel a little better. 

"You have a well-stocked first aid cabinet," Roy comments, mostly just for something to say. 

Ed laughs. "Yeah, me and Al have been patching each other up since we were kids. We learned pretty fast what was useful to have around, just in case."

Taking care of his brother from an early age would explain some of Ed's more paternal tendencies, Roy thinks, but it also begs the question - where the hell were their actual parents? The question hovers on the tip of his tongue but he hesitates to actually ask; he has no idea what kind of can of worms he could be opening. Besides which, questions of that kind are an invitation to reciprocity, and his own parents aren't something Roy has any interest in talking about.

"You got any siblings?" Ed asks. 

Roy shakes his head. "Only child." It's the truth, if not the entire truth. 

"That sucks," Ed says. "Siblings are great."

"Not everyone gets on with their siblings as well as you and Al do," Roy points out. 

"True, true," Ed concedes. "But I really dunno who I'd be without him. He's like, the other half of me. He's the one understands when the rest of the world thinks I'm crazy. Hell, he understood about you."

"Oh?" Roy asks, both wary and curious. "You told your brother about me?" 

"I tell Al everything." Ed pauses, and then looks slightly embarrassed. "Well, not the details and stuff, but enough to get the gist. Actually, I hadn't actually told him that I was, uh, interested in guys until yesterday. I wasn't deliberately trying to hide it, I just hadn't really acknowledged it to myself, I think."

"How did that go?" 

"It's Al!" Ed laughs and throws up his hands, as if this answer is self-explanatory. "He worked it out before I did - he was only waiting for me to actually tell him. When I did, he just hugged me and said that he wanted me to be happy."

Roy is relieved on Ed's behalf, and decides that Ed's brother may actually be worth the respect others apparently have for him. "If only everybody's coming-outs went as well," Roy says. 

"I know, I'm lucky," Ed says. "You come out to your parents?" 

"They died when I was young," Roy says, hoping to shut this line of questioning down. 

He remembers the day he brought up his bisexuality with his aunt, though. It's not like Chris Mustang had any hangups about sex or sexuality; she was the ultimate pragmatist. Her only advice had been to try and get men out of his system _before_ he joined the military. If he'd listened to her his life might have taken a very different path. 

"Sorry," Ed says. "I shouldn't have--" 

Roy shakes his head, interrupting before Ed can continue. He's not interested in platitudes. In an effort to change the direction of the conversation he says: "I came out to my best friend, though, when I was about your age."

"Yeah? Did it go ok?" Ed asks, looking concerned on his behalf.

"Yes," Roy says, a rush of nostalgia flooding him. "It went surprisingly well, actually. We became lovers." The warmth quickly fades, leaving the Maes-shaped hollow in his chest cold and empty. "For a couple of years, anyway."

"I'm sorry," Ed says again, correctly intuiting Roy's sudden drop in mood and what it implies about Roy's feelings towards the demise relationship. It certainly hadn't been his choice to end it, but he'd never held it against Maes - neither of them could help where their hearts led them. Roy's not sure why he brought Maes up at all; he hasn't even spoken the man's name in the last three years and tries not to think of him if he can help it. 

To Ed's comment, Roy shrugs, pragmatic. "Lasting relationships are rare, in my experience." 

"You're not with anyone now?" Ed asks. 

Roy shuts down immediately, retreating behind his cool mask of indifference. He can sense where this line of questioning is going, and he has no desire to go there with Ed. While he has no hesitation about slapping down other tricks who seek more from him, he doesn't want to be the cause of Ed's disappointment. 

"No," Roy says flatly. "Nor am I interested in being so."

Ed must interpret his expression accurately, because he hastily backpedals. "Sorry, I wasn't-- I mean, I shouldn't have--" 

"This is why the boundaries are there," Roy reminds him. "The boundaries you agreed on."

"I know, I'm sorry," Ed says, sounding genuinely contrite. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's none of my business."

"I'm not uncomfortable, I'm--" Roy cuts himself off, frowning. "It's for your benefit, Ed."

Ed nods. "I know. It's ok. We can talk about something else."

But Roy already feels like he's very much over-shared for the evening. He feels exposed, like his shell is cracked in too many places, and has the urge to retreat back to a safe, dark space, alone.

"I should go," Roy says.

Ed looks immediately crestfallen. "Because I asked--" 

"Because it's getting late," Roy interrupts, trying to be gentle about it. "And you should sleep."

Ed checks the time on his phone and sighs. "Guess so," he concedes, and then looks back up hopefully. "So can we do this again soon?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Roy says. Ed's growing attachment to him is obvious, and while he's tried to hold the reverse at bay, he knows he's been less than successful. The faint stinging of his palm reminds him of Ed's gentle touch, and he thinks that too much of that kind of care might just break him.

"Please? You still have to teach me how to do it the other way around, right?" 

"You wouldn't have any trouble finding somebody else to do that with," Roy says. Any of the other men that work his block would be more than happy to bend over for a good-looking guy like Ed. 

"Probably not. But I want to do it with you."

Roy's emotions are playing tug-o-war inside his chest. Part of him is screaming danger, painting Ed a threat to his emotional safety. The other part of him says that it's already too late, Roy's already attached, so he might as well keep going and enjoy what's being offered to him while he can. 

Roy is silent for a few moments, before his resistance finally crumbles. "All right. As long as you remember the boundaries between us," he says, as much to remind himself as Ed. 

"I remember. This is just a job for you, and I shouldn't get emotionally attached, right?" 

Roy isn't sure if Ed's just parroting the words to appease Roy, or whether he really is planning on trying to keep himself emotionally unentangled. Roy wouldn't be surprised if Ed himself hasn't worked out what he's feeling for Roy, his inexperience giving him no baseline for comparison. Roy, on the other hand, should be more self-aware.

"It's for your sake, Ed," Roy repeats. "I don't want you to get hurt." 

"I know," Ed says. "And I know you're just tryna protect me. But I don't need it - I can take care of myself."

Roy somehow doubts that, but knows that people have to make their own mistakes in order to learn. He'll protect Ed in the ways that he can, but Ed's choices are his own to make.

"Do you have an evening in mind?" Roy asks. 

"Friday? Same time, same place?"

"All right."

"I'll be looking forward to it!" Ed says, and then attempts to look less enthused. "That's ok, right?" 

"That's ok," Roy replies, trying not to smile. 

As much as he'll try not to, he knows that a part of him will too.

* * *

Ed's already up and munching through his breakfast by the time Al gets home in the morning. When he comes into the lounge, Al bee-lines for the table and takes a seat opposite Ed, looking at him intently. 

"Good," Al declares eventually, without Ed even having said a single word. "I don't have to hurt him."

Ed blinks, startled. "Al!" 

Al looks entirely unrepentant. "It's my job to look out for you, brother. And you'd do the same for me."

Ed _would_ , of course. He's not exactly sure what he'd do to anyone who hurt Al, but it would be swift and vicious. But Roy did nothing to earn that kind of retaliation. 

"There's need to hurt Roy," Ed says firmly. "He didn't hurt me."

"I know," Al says, smiling sunnily. 

Ed is sometimes tempted to resent the fact that Al can read him so easily. Also, anyone who thinks Ed is the more dangerous brother because of his hot-headedness and temper really doesn't know Al well enough. 

"So you had a good time, then?" Al asks. 

"Yeah. It was pretty damn awesome."

"How was Roy?"

"Roy was great. We had fun, he took care of me." He stops and thinks for a moment. "I think he's scared, though. Of getting close to me, or me getting close to him. Sometimes it seems like he wants to be close, but won't let himself."

"It is just a job to him," Al reminds him gently. "It's safer for him if he does keep clients at arm's length."

"I know," Ed agrees, imagining the sorts of guys that Roy might have been hired by with a shudder. "I bet there are guys who get creepy-obsessed with him all the time, and that's the last thing I wanna do! I just wanna… I dunno. Be good to him. Be friends with him, if he'll let me." As much as Ed had loved the actual sex, lying on the roof with Roy, holding his hand and looking at the stars had been just as good. That connection and companionship are what he craves, maybe even more than the physical stuff. Which is pretty much the exact opposite of what hookers are paid for, Ed realises, wilting a little. "That sounds totally stupid, doesn't it? Wanting to be friends with the guy you pay for sex." 

"Wanting to be kind is never a bad thing," Al says gently. "And I'm sure he'll appreciate it - as long as you don't push past the point he's comfortable with."

"I know. I wont," Ed says, determined. Roy's boundaries are there to keep him safe, and Ed has to respect that. 

"So," Al says, grin becoming a little wicked. "When do you want me out of the house again?" 

Ed blushes and stuffs his mouth full of toast. 

 

Ed wills time to pass faster over the next two days, but it seems disinclined to bend to his will, the hours dragging. On Thursday evening Ed makes his way through a giant pile of marking, hoping it'll keep him distracted, with only moderate success. 

By the time Friday night finally arrives, Ed's practically buzzing. He showers quickly and ties his hair into a loose tail. As he heads out the door he grabs his read coat, smiling to himself as he recalls Roy's comments about the colour suiting him. 

The night is cool, with the moon bright and clear above, and it only takes Ed minutes to get to Roy's corner. But when he gets there, Roy isn't there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone for the feedback, I'm still absolutely floored that people have been inspired to comment and kudo my story. It's been a crappy couple of weeks for me with health and work issues, and every comment helped pick me up a bunch. Writing has been a great distraction, and I'm actually sort of getting the hang of doing it regularly! 
> 
> Sorry that this is such a long, rambly chapter - I'm sure it could have done with some tightening up, but by the time I'd gone through it dozens and dozens of times filling in the gaps and editing all the rough bits, I started to go a bit nuts and just wanted it done. The crisis point hits next chapter and things start moving a lot faster then, I promise!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy returns to work and has an unpleasant reunion, and Ed does some sleuthing and discovers that sometimes things are worse than even his paranoia imagines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long to be posted. I've had a bad couple of weeks - a horrible deadline at work, a family member in hospital, my car dying, etc. 
> 
> Also contributing to the delay but in a much more positive way, I now have a beta! The very awesome [intentandinvention](http://archiveofourown.org/users/intentandinvention/) is a tough taskmaster but helped make this chapter loads better than it was by forcing me to actually fix all those wonky bits I'd thought "eh, close enough" about *sheepish*
> 
> Hopefully next chapter won't take nearly as long! 
> 
> Warnings: Roy performing his job with strangers. References to sexual coercion and sexual assault.

The first thing Roy sees on Thursday is his bandaged hand lying in front of his face, fingers curled loosely over his palm.

He blinks and slowly drags himself from the clutches of sleep, reluctant to get up and face the day. He doesn't even bother to sit up before he unwraps the bandage from his hand, the crepe leaving a textured pattern on the skin beneath it. Carefully, he peels off the square of gauze, trying not to take any of the new scab with it.

The graze covers most of the heel of his hand. It’s still pretty raw, but there are no signs of infection - he'll have to remember to thank Ed for his careful ministrations. Roy leaves it unwrapped to dry out, but sets aside the bandage to re-wrap it later. 

Eventually he forces himself upright and hauls himself out of bed. He's not particularly hungry, so he skips breakfast and runs through a shower instead, trying to avoid getting soap in the wound in the process.

He replies to Hawkeye when he's dressed again, after noticing his phone flashing. Remembering Ed enthusing over his favourite books the previous evening, he stretches out on the couch and asks if she’s read anything good lately. If she's surprised by his unusual interest, she doesn't let it show, rolling with the topic and telling him about the last good thing she can recall reading - and how bad the film adaptation of it was. They bitch to each other about the worst adaptations they can remember until she's summoned to a meeting and has to sign off.

Afterwards, he's at a bit of a loss as to what to do with himself. To stretch his legs he heads down and out to the front of the building to check his letterbox, hoping it will be empty. Unfortunately there's an envelope waiting for him, the transparent window at the front indicating a bill. He's going to have to take it to the bank on Tuesday and get Adeline to help him pay it. He’d never really valued the ability to do simple, day-to-day tasks like paying bills until he could no longer do them by himself.

After that he tries to listen to an infocast, but his attention wanders so many times that he eventually gets frustrated with himself and turns it off. His vision wasn't the only thing to suffer when his brains were rattled: his memory and concentration both took a hit, too. Some days are good and he barely notices, but other days, like today, he simply can't focus.

He knows what's triggered it, of course, even if he's been pretending he hasn't. The leaden feeling in his stomach has been creeping up on him all day, the physical reaction to the knowledge that he'll be returning to his corner work tonight. It's not something he ever looks forward to, of course, but the idea of facing it tonight is particularly harrowing.

Two nights with Ed has completely thrown his equanimity.

He's been numb for so long that he'd forgotten what it was like to feel. Ed has woken something inside of him, brought something back to life - but in the process he's peeled back the protective layer which had previously kept Roy insulated from the horror of having little pieces of his soul stripped away, night by night.

Now he's been reminded of the difference between using his body to share pleasure with another, and having his body used without thought or care. And while he can usually gain enough distance to cope with the acts he's performing and the men he's performing them with, tonight he suspects that every touch will be salt against abraded skin. 

Only years of self-discipline allow him to force himself to leave his apartment and make his way down the street later that evening. He stops at the corner, leans back against the wall, closes his eyes, and struggles to put on the calm, suave persona he requires. 

When the car stops in front of him, his voice is flat as he dangles the hook. But the trick either can't hear how lifeless he sounds, or simply doesn't care. Roy gets into the passenger seat and closes the door behind him. Heated air surrounds him, bringing relief from the cold, but somehow he feels even more chilled inside.

Roy has to forcibly disconnect something inside of himself before he can bend over and take the cock in his mouth. The feel of it makes him want to gag, but habit takes over and he starts bobbing his head, keeping his breathing even. He tries to ignore the heavy hand on the back of his head, demanding he go further, faster. Eventually the grunt comes from above and he can finally stop.

Afterwards, he shoves the crumpled notes into his pocket and stumbles back to his corner, the taste of rubber in his mouth.

As the night wears on, Roy slowly settles back into his role and his identity, each piece of the mindset clicking painfully back into place until he finally reacquires the emotional distance necessary to get through each act without feeling anything at all. It's a welcome numbness that starts within the cage of his ribs and slowly seeps through him.

But every so often he feels the throb of his grazed hand, and he thinks about Ed and what Ed has done to him. He hadn't expected it to be this hard to go back to being the whore that he is, after spending just a couple of nights with someone who made him feel human again. 

He's not sure he can afford to do it again, if it's going to feel like this every time. Those hours spent basking in Ed's warmth and enthusiasm woke something dormant inside of him, and as much as he wants to feel that kind of life again, it isn't worth being torn to pieces every second night.

Roy is so lost in his thoughts, he fails to notice when he's approached.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

Roy's blood runs cold. He knows that voice, knows it more intimately than he’d like. Every muscle in his body locks up, his chest constricting, and he has to force himself to keep drawing one breath after another. He can't bear to turn towards it, to acknowledge it, but neither can he stand the idea of the figure being nearby and not being able to see it.

"How the mighty have fallen," the voice continues, laced with smug arrogance. "But then, that's what happens to those who rise above their stations." He approaches until he's standing directly in front of Roy, and Roy finally manages to make himself meet the man's eyes. "A street corner, on the other hand. A street corner suits you rather well."

"Halcrowe," Roy says, flat and lifeless. He can feel the instinctive fear welling up from somewhere deep within him, but it hasn’t yet reached the surface, the residual numbness holding it at bay. 

"I'm flattered that you remember me, Mustang."

"What do you want from me?"

Halcrowe looks him up and down in obvious appraisal, and for the first time in years Roy feels self-conscious about the way he looks, about the hair that needs cutting and the clothing that acts as a clearly sexual invitation to his body. He has to force himself not to drop his head or look away in shame.

"You think I'm here for you, Mustang? Don't flatter yourself. I had no idea you'd be here, I was simply passing by."

Roy's not sure which would be worse - if Halcrowe had tracked him down here deliberately for some particular reason, or if it really just was Roy's just perpetually shitty luck that had Halcrowe pass this way tonight. He wouldn't put it past Halcrowe to be playing some kind of game, but waiting three years to do it seems a stretch even for him.

"But now that I am here," Halcrowe continues, "and I find you so… _available_ … I feel I'd be remiss if I didn't renew our acquaintance."

"No." The word is heavy and final, Roy's entire being rejecting the very thought of having anything to do with the odious man before him. It’s ironic, really, that he has more power as a hooker than he ever did as a soldier.

Halcrowe raises an eyebrow. "No?"

"I'm not interested."

"You haven't even heard what I'm offering."

"I wouldn't touch you if you promised me the treasury."

"You wound me, Mustang. That's not what you said all those evenings on your knees in my quarters," Halcrowe smirks.

"You didn’t give me a choice, then," Roy says. "But you pointed out, I have absolutely nothing left to lose now; you saw to that. You have nothing left to hold over me."

Halcrowe's expression darkens. "I'd think about what happened the last time you said no to me," he says.

"Oh, I am," Roy says. "And I take great delight in telling you to fuck off, Halcrowe."

"You may regret this decision, Mustang."

"I regret a lot of decisions in my life, but I doubt this will be one of them."

Halcrowe stands for another few moments, cooly regarding him, as if taking Roy’s measure. Evidently satisfied with whatever he finds, Halcrowe smiles nastily, and Roy knows that his facade of nonchalance has been seen through. "Very well, then. I hope you have a good evening, _Roy_."

The pointed use of his given name makes Roy's gorge rise, but he swallows it down and says nothing, remaining impassive. He won't give Halcrowe the satisfaction of a reaction.

Halcrowe turns and stalks away, and Roy keeps his eyes fixed on the retreating figure until he loses him amidst the shadows of the street. Roy then turns immediately and heads for home. There's no way he can stand being touched again tonight, not with all of the memories that Halcrowe’s presence has conjured up. 

When he gets inside, he engages the lock and sinks down to the floor, the door solid at his back. He’s shaking. The room is dark, the shadows even more incomprehensible to his vision than usual.

He feels sick, more rattled than he can remember being in a long time, having his past suddenly collide with his present. The two parts of his life have been so utterly disconnected until now - Halcrowe's very appearance in this time and place is a violation of the separation he sacrificed so much for.

Somehow, even now, Halcrowe can screw him over without even touching him. Roy feels dirty just having been in his presence.

Eventually Roy forces himself back onto his feet, determined not to let this event derail him completely. Halcrowe's appearance is an unpleasant shock, but it hasn't done any actual harm. His threats are empty, nothing but sadistic bluster; he played his entire hand three years ago.

Roy gets a bottle out of the cupboard, the neck fitting familiarly in his hand. He doesn't allow himself to do this very often, knowing that his propensity for drowning his pain in shitty bourbon is only a small step away from outright alcoholism, but tonight he thinks it's justified. He pours himself a glass and swallows, the burn a welcome heat down his throat and a distraction from his crawling skin. 

The bottle had only been half full to begin with, so by the time he finishes it, he's reasonably drunk but not completely off his face. It's enough to mess with his visual processing, though, so he resorts to navigating with his hands, not trusting his eyes. 

He should eat something, but can't find the motivation to make anything, and probably wouldn't have the coordination anyway. While rummaging through the cupboard half-heartedly he finds a lone muesli bar and figures that's better than nothing, so spends a few minutes crunching his way through it.

He finally drags himself to bed, collapsing onto it fully-clothed and falling asleep almost instantly.

 

Hawkeye’s morning text message wakes him, and Roy groans, burying his head beneath his pillow. His mouth tastes vile and his head is aching. He doesn't answer it, deciding he'll message Hawkeye back later when he has some semblance of brain function again.

He considers getting water and aspirin, but the bathroom might as well be miles away, and he falls asleep before he manages it. He wakes up again an hour or two later, cursing himself when he feels even worse. He drags himself out of bed, downs a glass of water, and manages to find something he's pretty sure is aspirin after fumbling through the bathroom cupboard. 

He should probably eat, but managing food seems beyond his capabilities right now. He can't even remember what he has in the fridge.

On Friday afternoons he'd usually go for another run, but the idea of bouncing his brain around inside his skull while hungover is a little too masochistic even for him. He does a few basic chores instead, tidying the place up, and then gives up and flops down on the couch.

He's been trying hard not to think about last night, but it keeps worming its way back into his brain whenever he lets his guard down. Halcrowe rattled him pretty thoroughly. Roy feels like a hunted animal shivering in its den; he wants to stay hidden here in his crappy little apartment where he doesn't have to face the world, doesn't have to bear the touch of hands that take but never give.

But Friday is his busiest night, and he can't afford not to be working, not if he wants to hit his total for the transfer.

Besides which, he has an appointment with Ed.

Right now, Roy's not sure which would be worse - servicing a parade of anonymous men, or Ed's gentle touch, his earnest empathy.

He remembers his rawness of the previous evening, having to go back to work after the oasis of his time with Ed, and how wretched he'd felt until he'd managed to disconnect himself from it all. The idea of having to go through that again - not just once, but time after time, if he keeps seeing Ed - terrifies him.

He should cancel the appointment with Ed before he gets in any deeper. Tell Ed to find someone he can forge an actual relationship with. Let Ed fade into one of those bittersweet memories he stores away to warm himself when he feels like his heart has turned to ice.

But he doesn't want to let Ed down. Ed had been so hopeful and eager the other night, talking about looking forward to seeing Roy again. How long has it been since someone looked forward to spending time with Roy, not just fucking him? Roy doesn't think he even knows how to be happy any more, but lying on the roof with Ed in the darkness had been the closest he'd been to _content_ in a long time. Can he really make himself give that up?

The argument goes back and forth in his head, but deep down he knows there's really only one way for it to end. There's no way off this path he's fallen to, no way to claw his way out of the hellish pit that is his current existence. And if he's going to survive it, he has to protect himself, to reinforce that layer of numbness between himself and the world and avoid anything that might compromise it.

Regardless of what he decides, of course, he needs to get himself to the corner. He's not going to be the asshole who simply doesn't turn up; he owes Ed at least the basic courtesy of telling him his decision to his face.

So Roy makes himself get up and get changed, runs a comb through his hair, wraps the bandage back around his hand. 

He's nearly ready to go when there's a knock at the door.

* * *

Ed waits on Roy's corner, looking anxiously up and down the street.

There are plenty of reasons Roy could be late. Maybe he got distracted by something and lost track of time. Maybe he got stuck in a queue somewhere. Maybe he was sick. Or maybe he just decided not to come. There are a million and one things that could have happened that aren't sinister or ominous in the least.

But Ed still can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. 

He gets the impression Roy is a precise sort of person, and that punctuality and routine are important to him. He also doesn't think Roy would just ditch him like this, even if he'd decided to end it. He's pretty sure Roy would at least turn up to tell him things were off. 

So Roy's complete non-appearance is worrying.

Ed watches the minutes tick by on the glowing screen of his phone, the vague anxiousness in the pit of his stomach slowly growing.

He's been there for half an hour or so when the fancy car pulls up in front of him and the window winds down.

"You're new," the guy says, looking Ed up and down like he's a piece of meat on display. "A little overdressed, but I do like 'em young. How much for a taste of that pretty little ass?"

Ed is immediately filled with an incandescent rage at the thought of this asshole fucking underage teenage boys. He remembers Roy's dismissal of him, his unwillingness to even contemplate the idea of sex with someone he thought was a kid. And here this sleazeball is, trying to pick Ed up for exactly the same reason. 

Smashing this guy in the face with his metal fist would make him feel better temporarily, Ed knows, but wouldn't help find Roy and might get the police involved, which he's pretty sure is a bad plan all round. Somehow he manages to restrain himself, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"I'm not for fucking sale, asshole."

The guy looks at him like he's said something adorable. "Aww, don't play hard to get, baby. You know I'm good for it. Whatever you want, I can pay."

Ed shudders at both the endearment and the expression. "I said, I'm not selling. Leave me the fuck alone."

The guy in the car looks like he's debating whether to be pissed off or not, and it occurs to Ed suddenly how vulnerable he is. He has more than his fair share of attitude, but when it comes down to it, he's a small guy with two prosthetic limbs, and could quite easily be overpowered by someone bigger and stronger.

He deliberately turns and walks away, heart hammering, waiting to hear the car door open. But a few moments later he hears the car drive away instead, and he exhales abruptly in relief, sagging against a wall. 

What a fucking _dick_.

Ed realises suddenly that if Roy had been here instead of him, that guy would have probably tried the same thing on him, and Roy would have said yes. Because that's Roy's job, to say yes to sleazy, perverted assholes who want to fuck him.

The idea of someone like that _using_ Roy makes him sick to his stomach.

He’s always known that Roy sells himself, of course - kind of unavoidable when Ed took advantage of the fact five minutes after he met the guy. But he’s never really thought about what that _meant_. He never thought about the fact that Roy would be propositioned by guys like that sleazeball; that Roy would have to say _yes_.

The realisation is slow in coming, but it finally hits Ed that Roy isn’t choosing to stand on a corner and sell himself because it’s easy money. Roy doesn’t enjoy the sex; he told Ed that much himself, and there's no way anybody would fuck someone like that asshole if they had a choice. But surely someone as smart as Roy could find other ways to pay his bills? Ed thinks back over the two evenings they’ve spent together, all the subtle signals Roy gave and the things he mentioned so offhandedly, and he’s suddenly certain that Roy feels like he _doesn’t_ have any other viable options.

And that makes Ed feel even more sick. It means he's taken advantage of someone who effectively can't say no. 

On the other hand, if Roy hadn't have been with him those nights, he just would have been with someone else - wasn't it better than it _was_ Ed, rather than that sleazy asshole who wouldn't give a crap about Roy enjoying himself? Ed can’t do anything about the way Roy makes his living; all he can do is offer himself as an alternative, if Roy wants him. 

Ed sweeps a hand over his hair in frustration. He has no idea how to untangle the morality of prostitution, from either side. It's not important right now anyway, he tells himself sternly. There'll be time for self-recrimination later - right now he has to find Roy and make sure that he's ok.

Ed checks the time. Twenty to nine.

All right, time to get proactive. How do you find someone without their number, address, or surname? Simple. You ask someone who knows them. 

Ed looks down the street to where there are other young guys in t-shirts loitering along the street, watching the passers-by. He'd seen them the first time he came this way, not realising what they were. He has no idea whether these guys will even know Roy, but figures it's worth a shot.

He heads down the street, to where three guys are standing in a loose group. They all look at him with vague disinterest. He supposes he's not the type of guy that usually tries to pick them up; Roy had certainly been nonplussed when he'd stopped in front of him that first time, too.

"Have any of you guys seen Roy?" Ed asks.

They look confused.

"Who's that, then?" one of them asks.

"Shaggy black hair, usually on that corner?" Ed gestures down the road in the direction he'd come from.

Recognition sparks as they follow his gesture. "Dude with the stick up his ass," one of them mutters, and another nods agreement.

"He's probably off doing his job, honey," the first guy says, condescension in his tone. 

Oddly, this scenario wasn't one that had occurred to Ed. He'd just assumed that Roy wouldn't take any other clients on nights he'd agreed to be with Ed, but it's not like Ed had specified exclusivity, so there's no reason he couldn't have. Maybe he got tied up with one of them earlier and lost track of time?

"What you want with that prissy bitch anyway?" one of the other guys asks, stepping towards Ed. Dark hair falls to his shoulders in waves and he'd totally be Ed's type if he wasn't looking so fucking predatory. 

"I can show you a better time than he can, guaranteed." The guy reaches out to run a finger down Ed's chest, and Ed jerks away, startled at being touched without warning or invitation.

"No," he says sharply. "Not interested. I just wanna find Roy."

The guy shrugs, seeming unconcerned at the rejection. "Your loss, baby. Come find me when you decide you want a man who can show you a real good time. Name's Jasper."

"Yeah, whatever," Ed says, rattled. He keeps going down the street, but has no more luck the next two times he tries, either, so eventually he heads back to Roy's corner.

He’s at a loss as to what to do next. He's trying to think of any other options when he looks down the road that runs across the street the guys all work on, and notices there are women standing around, down towards the next corner.

Ed has no idea if Roy's any more likely to talk to female sex workers than male, but it's not like Ed has anything to lose by trying - he's pretty much at a dead end right now otherwise.

The first group of girls he approaches are wearing even less than Roy was the evening they'd met, and Ed shivers in sympathy.

"Have any of you guys seen Roy?" Ed asks. "Works the corner down that way?"

A couple of them shake their heads, and one adds: "Haven't seen him tonight."

It's interesting that they seem to recognise his name, at least.

"Do you know how to contact him?" he tries. "Phone number, address, anything?"

The girls look at him warily, and he can suddenly see himself from their point of view - someone trying to hunt down a sex worker is definitely verging into stalker territory.

"He's my friend," Ed hurries to reassure them. "I'm worried about him. We were supposed to meet up and he never showed - I just wanna make sure he's ok." He tries to look earnest, let his genuine concern show. "Even if you can't give me his number, could you maybe text and check in on him or something? You don't even have to tell me anything, you can wait until I'm gone. He's a good guy, he deserves someone looking out for him."

The girls look at each other, but this seems to convince them of his good intentions.

"We don't know how to contact him," one of them says, and then gestures to two girls standing on the opposite side of the road. "But you could try Vanessa and Madeleine, they know him better."

"Thank you!" Ed says fervently. He ducks across the road to where the two indicated girls are standing together. The taller girl is blonde, while the shorter girl has copper hair and a faint smattering of freckles.

"Hi, I'm Ed," he says. "Vanessa and Madeleine, right?"

"I'm Vanessa, this is Maddie," the taller girl says warily.

"I'm looking for Roy, have you guys seen him? I'm worried about him." He repeats the spiel he'd given the other girls, beseeching them to contact him if they know how. He tries to look deliberately young and harmless - not all that hard when he knows he looks more like fifteen and both girls are taller than he is.

The girls don't say anything in response and Ed's just about figured it's a bust when the smaller girl, Madeleine, finally takes a hesitant step towards him.

"I know where he lives," she says.

Ed finally feels a tentative flare of hope. "Could you give me his address?"

"I don't know it, sorry. I just know how to get there.”

"Could you take me? Or if you're not ok with that, could you maybe go check on him, and just let me know if he's ok?" Ed asks hopefully. "I know I'm asking a lot, but I'd really appreciate it."

Madeline nods after a moment of hesitation. "I'll take you."

Vanessa frowns at her, but doesn’t say anything.

"I owe him one," Madeleine says to her companion with a shrug.

Vanessa sighs. "Be careful," she says, with a wary look at Ed.

"I will." Turning back to Ed, Madeleine gestures for him to follow. "It's not far from here."

Ed follows her down the street, trying to fix the directions in his mind as he goes.

"So have you been to Roy's place a lot?" Ed asks, trying to make conversation. He realises after he says it that it sounds a lot like a 'jealous boyfriend' question, and winces. "Sorry. It's really none of my business. Sometimes my mouth says stuff without consulting my brain."

But Madeleine chooses to answer anyway. "Only once," she says quietly. "One time a trick went bad on me, and Roy took me back to his place so I had somewhere safe to stay for the night. He didn't really say much, but having someone there who knows what it's like helps, you know?. I knew he'd protect me if anyone came after me, too."

Ed's not sure exactly what constitutes a trick 'going bad', but imagines it must be pretty awful. It warms him to get confirmation that Roy is the sort of person who’ll provide safe harbour for somebody distressed and afraid. On the other hand, it makes Ed even more anxious, being reminded of the hazards Roy faces nightly, working on the streets.

"I'm not the only girl he's helped out, either," Madeleine says. "He's quiet, doesn't talk to the rest of us much. But he's a good guy."

"Yeah," Ed agrees. "He really is. He was good to me, too. I think he looks out for other people more than he does himself. That's why I'm worried about him."

Madeleine leads him to a crumbling, run-down apartment block. There’s a wrought-iron front gate but it’s currently wide open; the broken, rusted lock evidence that it’s been that way for some time.

When they get to Roy's apartment, Ed knocks, but there's no answer. He waits a little while and then tries again, to the same effect.

Madeleine meets his gaze and shrugs.

“Roy?” Ed calls out, hoping that Roy might answer if he knows it’s someone friendly on the other side of the door. When there’s still no reply he tries the handle, not expecting it to turn but wanting to exhaust all options before giving up, and finds it unlocked. Ed’s concern ratchets up another notch; a vague, sick feeling creeping up from the pit of his stomach. Nobody who lives in a place like this would leave their door unlocked. He pushes the door slowly open. 

The door opens directly into the single room of the apartment. There isn't much furniture: a couch, a coffee table, a bed, a chest of drawers. The carpet is threadbare. The curtains are drawn.

And Roy is sitting wedged into the far corner of the room. The apartment is freezing, but he's wearing only sweatpants - no shirt, and his feet are bare. His arms are wrapped around his shins, head down on his knees. His hair is a mess. Even from here Ed can see spatters of red on his bare skin.

"Roy?" Ed hurls himself across the room as fast as his limbs will carry him. "Fuck, Roy!"

To Ed’s shock, Roy recoils away from his approach and Ed jerks to a halt a few feet away. He stops where he is, kneeling down so as not to intimidate Roy any further.

"Roy, are you ok?"

Roy's head comes up slowly, and he squints in Ed's direction without actually seeming to lock onto him, gaze drifting off to the left. His forehead is wrinkled, like he's confused. There's blood on his mouth - his lower lip is split and oozing - and at his temple. 

"Fuck, Roy, what _happened_?"

"Ed?" Roy's voice is slightly hoarse.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here. What can I do?"

Ed hovers, inching towards Roy on his knees but not actually touching him.

"I don't… where'm I?" Roy asks. His words are slurred, with none of his usual precision.

"You're at your apartment. I came here to look for you, I was worried."

Roy frowns as if this makes no sense to him.

His obvious disorientation is freaking Ed out. “Roy, what the hell happened? Where are you hurt?”

"Head…" Roy mumbles, squinting as if the light is too bright, even though there's only an ordinary incandescent lightbulb in the fitting above. He's still not tracking properly, either, his eyes drifting across the apartment without catching on anything.

"Your head hurts?" 

"Mmm."

Ed wonders just how hard Roy was hit, to mess him up this badly. He's definitely concussed, and the vision weirdness in particular is pretty concerning. It looks like he was hit at least a few times, if the split lip and bloody temple are anything to go by. There's also a red mark and some swelling around the socket of one eye that will probably bruise up pretty impressively. Ed's figuring that Roy got in the way of a break-in, that the thieves hadn't expected him to be here and had beaten the heck out of him to keep him out of the way while they worked. 

"Somebody punched you?" Ed asks. "That's why your head hurts?"

Madeleine’s come closer, but hangs back behind Ed. "I've seen him beaten up before, but not like this," she says quietly, and Ed exchanges a worried glance with her.

"Hit it… on the edge of the…" Roy trails off as if he's lost the word, gesturing with one hand in the vague direction of the chest of drawers by the bed. "...fell."

As Ed looks in the direction Roy indicates, he notices more spatters of blood on the carpet and on the bed, scarlet against the dove grey sheets. Something inside him chills.

"Roy, there's a lot of blood. Is it all yours? Where are you hurt?"

He tries to get a better look, but Roy still has his arms wrapped around his knees, blocking the view to most of his body.

"Roy, can you tell me where you're hurt?"

"Head," Roy says, sounding irritable. 

"Yeah, your head hurts, I got that," Ed says, trying to be patient. "Where else?"

Roy mumbles something else that Ed can't make any sense of.

Ed puts a hand on Roy's shoulder, but Roy flinches away from him, and he pulls it back as if scalded. The last thing he wants to do is hurt Roy any worse than he already is.

"We gotta get him to a doc," Ed says.

"He really doesn't like doctors. He always refuses to go," Madeleine says, but sounds as concerned as Ed feels.

Ed moves around to Roy's side, hoping he might be able to see more of whatever's going on with him, and catches sight of the bloody smear on the wall behind him. 

"Fuck, Roy, your back! What happened?"

Roy's head tilts slowly to the side until it's resting against the wall beside him, hair falling over his face, not answering.

Ed's freak-out meter finally hits the red line. Whatever's happened here is more than he knows how to deal with, and Roy needs medical attention _now_. He digs in his pocket for his phone.

"Roy, this is… fuck, I gotta call an ambulance."

Roy makes a sound that Ed suspects indicates his disapproval, but considering that he's not even capable of putting it into words right now, Ed decides he loses the right to a vote. In his peripheral vision, Ed sees Madeleine nod her agreement, and is glad at least they’re on the same page.

The call picks up after only a couple of rings.

“Central Emergency Services. Which service do you require?”

“Ambulance.”

“Transferring.”

There’s a click and then the line picks up again. "Central Ambulance Service. What is your emergency?"

"My friend, he's hurt. I don't know what happened, but I think he was attacked - he's been hit, there's blood all over the place, and I think he's concussed. He's really confused."

"All right, can you give me your location, sir?"

Ed blanks. He has no freaking idea where he is, let alone the actual address. He looks at Madeleine, and then remembers that she doesn't know either.

Fuck. Ed quickly scans the room, catches sight of an unopened letter on the kitchen bench and grabs it. He thanks every mythical entity he knows that it has Roy's name and address on it, and he reads the address to the operator.

"Thank you. Can you give me your name and number, sir, in case we get cut off?"

"Edward Elric," he says, and gives her his mobile number. He can't see anything resembling a landline in Roy's apartment.

"Ok, there's an ambulance on its way, Edward. Can you tell me the patient's name and age?"

"Roy Mustang. He's-- I dunno, like mid twenties?"

"Okay. Is Roy conscious?"

Ed looks at Roy. "Sort of? I mean, he's blinking and stuff, but he's not really responding to what I'm saying properly."

"Is he breathing ok?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I don't know! I found him like this. I got to his place and he was on the floor, and there's blood on him, especially down his back. Someone hit him, he's got a split lip and a black eye. He said he fell, too - hit his head on the way down, I think."

"You said he seems confused?"

"Yeah, he's pretty freaking out of it."

"Can you see if Roy can count to ten for me?"

Ed folds down to the floor beside Roy again. "Hey, Roy," he says gently. "Can you count to ten for me?"

Roy rolls his head to look towards Ed, but his focus is still off. "Ed?"

"Yeah, it's Ed. Can you count for me?"

"Count?"

"Yeah. You know… one, two, three…"

"Three of them," Roy mumbles.

Ed’s been pretty freaked out for the past five minutes, but Roy’s inability to perform this most basic task amps his concern up even higher. "Three of what?" Ed asks, hoping for some kind of coherence.

But Roy seems to have lost his train of thought already. "Too bright," he complains, squinting up at the light in irritation.

Ed puts the phone back up to his ear. "I don't think he understands what I'm asking,” he says, his voice hitching in distress. “And he has a problem with the light, says it's too bright."

"Ok, don't worry about it. When the ambulance gets there, will they be able to get into apartment? Are there any locked doors between you and the street?" 

"No, the front gate is broken and the door here isn't locked," Ed says.

"Is there anyone who can meet the ambulance out the front and help them get to the right apartment?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so, gimme a sec." Ed relays this request to Madeleine, who nods agreement and heads out of the apartment. "Yeah, she's gone out the front, she'll look out for them."

"You said Roy was bleeding?"

"Yeah… his back, I think."

"Is he still bleeding?"

"I dunno… I think so? He's sitting against the wall, so I can't really get to it to check."

"Do you think you might be able to get him to move, so that you can apply pressure to the wound? If you can, help him to lie down on his side. Do you know the recovery position?"

"Yeah, I know it. He really didn't like it when I touched him before, but I'll try."

"Hey, Roy," Ed says, putting a hand on the side of his calf. Roy jerks his head up to look at him, frowning.

"Ed?"

"Yeah, it's still me. Reckon you could move away from the wall for me, so I can see your back? I can help you lie down - you'd probably be more comfortable that way."

Something about this request seems to agitate Roy. "No, no. Won't– won't lie down," he says, grasping Ed's wrist tightly for emphasis.

"Ok, ok, you don't have to. It's all right," Ed says, attempting to soothe him. "Can I at least sit next to you?"

Roy doesn't respond to this, so Ed figures it means he doesn't object. He carefully takes a seat beside Roy, making sure not to dislodge Roy's hand - Roy is still clinging to his wrist like a lifeline. Roy closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, still not letting go.

"He doesn't wanna move or lie down," Ed reports back to the operator. "And he keeps closing his eyes. Am I supposed to try and keep him awake or something?"

"Don't worry about it," she says. "The ambulance isn't far away now. The most important thing is not to leave him by himself right now."

"I wouldn't!" Ed says, indignant at the idea that she thinks he might just get up and leave Roy alone like this. "Even if he wasn't my friend, I wouldn't leave him by himself when he's this messed up."

"That's good, Edward," the operator reassures him. "You're doing all the right things."

The operator signs off when Ed finally hears the ambulance siren outside the building.

The door bangs open not long after and two paramedics barge in, carrying a stretcher between them with a box on top. The one in the lead is a guy with white-blond hair, and he's followed by a slightly younger woman with braids.

They head over to Roy and Ed immediately, setting the stretcher down nearby.

"This is Roy?" The male paramedic asks.

Roy's eyes open at his name, but he doesn't move or respond.

"Yeah," Ed says. "And I'm Ed." 

"Hi, Ed. I'm Stefan, and this is Antonia. We're going to need you to move away so that we can assess your friend, ok?"

Ed is reluctant to leave Roy without his protection, even though he knows the medics are here to help and far more qualified than he is. Roy seems to feel much the same way, clinging to Ed's wrist when Ed stands and tries to move back. 

"It's ok, I'm not going far, I promise. Just over there, see?"

Ed practically has to peel Roy's fingers from his wrist, and Roy makes a sound of unhappiness as his arm drops back to his side.

" _Can't_ see," Roy says, almost angrily. His head is tilted vaguely in Ed's direction off to the side, but he's nowhere near actually looking at him. Ed wonders again how hard he was hit - this seems like one hell of a concussion.

"Don't need to see me when you can hear me," Ed says, trying for cheerful, despite the fact that his heart is practically breaking at Roy's distress. "You know me, I never shut up. The problem isn't getting me to _start_ talking, it's always figuring out how to get me to _stop_."

A ghost of a smile crosses Roy's face at that. "Like," he mumbles, and Ed suddenly has to blink tears away.

Stefan kneels down in front of Roy. "Hi, Roy," he says. "My name is Stefan, and I'm a paramedic. I'm here to help."

Roy's head jerks towards him, expression turning hostile. It seems to take him a couple of moments to focus properly, despite the fact that Stefan is directly in front of him.

"Can you tell me your full name?" Stefan asks.

"Why?" Roy says, sounding wary.

"I'm trying to work out how hard you hit your head. Your friend Ed said you were kind of confused."

Roy doesn't answer, still looking suspicious.

"If you don't want to answer, that's ok. Could you hold up two fingers for me instead?"

Roy frowns, as if trying to make sense of this command, but doesn't move to follow it.

Stefan lifts a hand - Ed thinks maybe to demonstrate - but Roy reacts to the movement as if it were an attack, snarling and trying to shove him away. Fortunately, Roy is slow and clumsy and Stefan dodges easily. Roy retreats back to the wall again immediately, looking like a cornered animal, hair falling over his face.

"Roy! They're here to help, they won't hurt you!" Ed says, shocked. "You don't need to fight them."

"Is he usually aggressive?" Antonia asks.

"No, not at all. He's the total opposite!"

"Head injuries can significantly affect behaviour," Stefan says. "And if he's been attacked he's probably still in flight or fight mode. He's not well enough to run, so his body's telling him to fight anyone he doesn't recognise." Stefan turns back to Ed. "We might need your help, Ed. I need to get a look at his head. Do you think you can convince him to sit still and let me?"

"I can try," Ed says dubiously.

But before Ed can even move, Roy's neck suddenly arches, his head slamming back against the wall, body rigid. 

Ed lurches forward, but Stefan is closer, grabbing Roy by the shoulders as he starts convulsing and easing him down sideways to the floor, keeping a hand beneath his head.

"Tonic-clonic seizure," Stefan says calmly to his partner. "Start timing and get me a non-rebreather mask. And a nasal airway, just in case."

To Ed, he says: "Bring me a pillow from the bed."

Ed shoots across the room and grabs one, bringing it back to hand to the paramedic. Stefan slides it beneath Roy's head. Roy's body is continuing to jerk and tremble on the floor, entirely out of his own control. He’s struggling to breathe, gasping ragged breaths in between periods of terrifying silence, sounding almost pained when he does manage to drag air into his lungs.

"Does he have any history of seizures or epilepsy?" Stefan asks Ed.

"I don't know," Ed says helplessly. 

"Any other medical conditions?"

"I dunno, I'm sorry. PTSD, I think, but I dunno what else."

"Ed, could you please look in the bathroom, the kitchen, and around the bed, and bring me any prescription medications you find? Try not to disturb anything you don't have to - the police will go through the apartment for evidence after we've gone."

Ed scurries off to follow this order. As he crouches to go through the cupboard beneath the bathroom sink, he notices an unpleasant smell, and locates the splatter of vomit on the floor of the shower a moment later. It doesn't seem like Roy to just leave a mess like that, so Ed figures Roy mustn't have had the energy or coordination to turn on the taps and wash it away. Ed has the brief urge to do it for him, but remembers the paramedic's comment about evidence and leaves it where it is.

Roy's bathroom cupboards are relatively bare. Ed finds some aspirin, paracetamol, and some cold and flu meds. Nothing prescription. The kitchen has nothing medicinal at all. Ed does a quick look in the drawers beside Roy's bed, but finds nothing there either.

"Couldn't find any prescription medications," he reports back to Stefan. "But there's vomit in the bathroom, I think he threw up before I got here."

"Ok, thanks for letting me know," Stefan says.

The paramedics have moved Roy away from the wall and settled him on his side now, and there's some kind of oxygen mask with a bag strapped over his face. Stefan keeps a hand on Roy's jerking shoulder while his partner rummages through the box they'd carried in. Roy is still gasping for each breath beneath the mask. There's an acrid smell, like ammonia, and it takes Ed a few moments to connect it to the wet patch on the front of Roy's pants.

Seeing Roy so utterly out of control is horrifying - not because it’s anything new for Ed, not after Al - but because he knows how Roy would feel about it. Ed's seen how rigidly Roy controls himself, always conscious of how he appears. He'd hated having the panic attacks in front of Ed and temporarily losing that control - and this is ten times worse. His body is moving senselessly, in spastic, uncoordinated jerks, slivers of white showing beneath his eyelids and the wet patch on his pants slowly spreading. Ed is desperate to help but can't think of a damn thing he can do except stay out of the way. 

Antonia fills a syringe from a vial, screwing something onto the end of it. When Stefan moves the mask away from Roy’s face, she puts the syringe in one nostril and squirts the whole lot in. Stefan resettles the mask while she packs the syringe away.

"What was that?" Ed asks.

"Medication to stop the seizure," Stefan replies. "So we can stabilise him before we move him to the ambulance."

The paramedics continue working on Roy, testing his oxygen levels and blood pressure and other things Ed doesn't understand, Antonia making a note of all the readings. Maybe a minute later the medication seems to kick in, the convulsions slowly dying down into twitches and then his body going entirely limp.

"Roy?" Ed asks hopefully. He wants to reach for Roy's hand, but doesn't want to get in the paramedics' way.

Roy doesn't respond. His eyes are closed fully now, and his limbs remain in the awkward disarray they were in when he stopped finally stopped moving. 

"Can you hear me, Roy?" Antonia asks loudly, but Roy doesn't respond to that either. 

"He may not become conscious or aware of his surroundings for a little while," Stefan says to Ed. He grabs some gauze and other supplies from the medical chest, and directs his partner to help him move Roy further away from the wall so that he can get in behind Roy and look at his back.

"Back wound is shallow but extensive, probably made with a blade or knife, maybe a scalpel," Stefan says, examining it. He presses the square of gauze to Roy's back and tapes a sheet of clear plastic over it, pressing down with one gloved hand as he continues to check Roy for visible injuries. When he gets to Roy's backside he shoots his partner a quick glance of concern.

"Ed, can you grab Roy some dry pants and underwear?" Stefan asks. "He'll want them when he wakes up."

Ed knows a fob-off request when he hears one, so he keeps an eye and ear on the paramedics as he goes to follow it. He finds a canvas satchel in Roy's cupboard and then moves to the chest of drawers.

Stefan pulls Roy's sweatpants down at the back and tilts him forwards slightly so he can examine him more carefully. Ed has to fight back a protest - the idea of anyone exposing Roy like that when he's not even conscious makes Ed fiercely protective. But he also knows they wouldn't be doing it without good reason.

Ed finds Roy's underwear in the top drawer and shoves some soft cotton boxers in the bag.

Stefan's speaking quietly to his partner, but Ed's sharp ears catch fragments: "... external tear, but we can't rule out internal bleeding," and then something he can't make out, followed by: "... indicates probable sexual assault."

Ed freezes, the sound of the world fading out for a moment as the words ring in his ears. He has to swallow against the bile that wants to rise up into his throat. This wasn't just a random robbery where Roy happened to get in the way, this was an outright attack, an _assault_. Somebody held Roy down and _raped_ him. It's not like Ed hadn't suspected as much after seeing the blood on the bed, but he'd pushed it out of his head, wanting to believe he was wrong.

The paramedics carefully shift Roy onto the stretcher, lying him flat on his back, and fasten straps across Roy's body to hold him in place. When they lift it up to waist-height the wheels remain on the ground, turning it into a trolley.

Ed forces himself into action, adding a pair of pyjama pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt to the bag before hurrying back over.

"We're going to get him loaded into the ambulance now," Antonia says to Ed as Stefan packs up.

"Can I come with him?" Ed asks quickly. "It might help, if he wakes up confused."

He can't stand the idea of Roy waking up in a strange place with strange people around him, afraid and in pain, especially after what he's already gone through tonight. 

"We usually only allow immediate family members to travel with us in the ambulance," Antonia says. "Are you his partner?" 

Ed only has a moment to debate the wisdom of the lie, afraid that if he says he's just a friend they might not let him on board. "Yeah, I am," he says, chin raising in defiance, daring them to challenge him.

The paramedics exchange a glance, and Stefan nods. 

"All right, come with us," Antonia says.

The paramedics maneuver Roy’s stretcher out through the door of the apartment and Ed follows in their wake, pausing as he passes Madeleine, still standing just inside the door. 

"Thanks," he tells her, the word feeling too small for the gratitude he's feeling. If it hadn't been for her willingness to take a chance on him, Roy would be here suffering alone. 

She nods and gives him a hesitant smile. "Look after him," she says as Ed heads out of the apartment.

"I will!" Ed calls back over his shoulder.

Ed follows the stretcher through the building and out onto the street where the ambulance is waiting. The paramedics get Roy on board, lock the stretcher in place, and then Stefan gives Ed a hand up. Antonia shows him where he can sit, in the corner out of the way. The back doors are closed and locked and then the ambulance takes off, lights flashing and siren blaring.

Ed's never been in an ambulance before - not while he's been conscious, at least. It's loud and claustrophobic with so many people in such a cramped space, and Ed has a brief moment of panic before he orders himself to get his shit together. He's here to look out for Roy, which he can't do if he's all over the place.

Ed tugs his left glove off and shoves it in his pocket, wanting skin to skin contact. Stefan is busy with Roy's closest arm, so Ed wraps his hand around Roy's ankle instead, below the cuff of his pants, above his bare foot. Roy's skin is cool beneath his palm and it feels wrong; Roy's always been warm to the touch. Ed absently wishes he had a second hand to try and warm Roy's foot with.

"Got it," Stefan says with quiet satisfaction, securing a cannula in Roy's arm with a clear square of tape. He moves aside so Antonia can hook up a line attached to a bag of some kind of fluid.

"The injury to his hand is older - do you know what happened there?" Stefan asks, indicating Roy's left hand, which is still wrapped in the fraying crepe bandage.

"He fell," Ed says. "Night before last. Scraped his hand up. I wrapped it for him."

"Two falls in three days?" Stefan muses contemplatively. "Is he generally clumsy?"

"No, he's pretty careful," Ed says. Roy is usually precise and graceful when he moves, unlike Ed, who tends to be up and moving almost before he's decided where he's going, occasionally resulting in some inelegant flailing.

There's silence for a moment, and Ed replays the question in his head and suddenly hears the hidden accusation, turning to Stefan, aghast.

"You think _I_ did this to him? You think I knocked him down, and hit him, and cut him up, and--" Ed chokes, the words all jamming up in his throat in his distress.

"If I'd thought it was you, I wouldn't have let you on board," Stefan says. 

For a moment Ed thinks the paramedic is dismissing the idea simply because of his size and is about to get irrationally angry about it, but Stefan continues: "Take a look at his knuckles, they're split and bruised. He fought back against whoever attacked him, and probably landed a decent hit or two. You don't look beaten-up to me. Besides, he wasn't afraid of you, he wanted you to stay near him, and he was too disoriented for it to have been an act."

Ed is filled with a conflicting tempest of emotions: a mix of pride and fear that Roy tried to fight back, despite being somehow overwhelmed, and impotent rage at the thought of what was done to him while he was so vulnerable. But Stefan's latter words manage to dull the fury at least a little. Roy hadn't been afraid of him, Ed recalls. Roy had held onto him and hadn't wanted to let go, as if Ed was a safe haven in the midst of his confusion and fear. That has to mean _something_.

"Will he be ok?" Ed asks suddenly, unable to help himself, hating how small he sounds.

"We can't promise anything," Stefan says cautiously. "It's always difficult to predict prognosis, with head injuries."

"But it's just a concussion, right? When he wakes up, he should be ok?" Ed knows way too much about traumatic brain injuries to really believe that, but he asks anyway, desperate for somebody to reassure him. He's suddenly eleven years old again, asking the same plaintive question at his brother's bedside, an endless parade of doctors and nurses giving him pitying looks and non-answers.

Stefan hesitates. "It really is difficult to tell. The seizure and lack of consciousness are warning signs that his brain has been hurt; it's impossible to know how badly without a scan. But even simple concussions can be dangerous."

Ed grips Roy's ankle even more tightly, as if somehow he can transmit some of his strength to Roy's embattled body, willing him to open his eyes. But Roy remains unconscious, and Ed can't do anything but watch him as the medics monitor and tend to him for the rest of the trip.

The ambulance pulls into the hospital and shuts off the sirens and lights. Antonia opens the doors from the inside as Stefan unlocks the stretcher. Outside, there are several other medics who help unload Roy and turn the stretcher back into trolley form. Ed jumps down afterwards, hurrying to catch up, clutching Roy's satchel tightly.

They wheel Roy in through the double doors of the emergency entrance. Ed follows as closely as he can while trying not to get in the way, not wanting to be left behind.

Stefan is already giving a rapid-fire handover to the receiving medics, full of numbers and acronyms Ed doesn't know: "... responsiveness was 12 on arrival but crashed to 6 after the seizure, he's been unconscious for nearly twenty minutes…" 

Ed is stopped at the next set of doors by a nurse with a clipboard. 

"You came in with the patient? Roy Mustang?" she asks.

Ed nods, looking anxiously through the window to where Roy is disappearing down the corridor. "Can I go with him?"

"Roy's being taken to have some tests now, and I'm afraid visitors can't go to those parts of the hospital. I need you to come with me to an interview room, where one of the doctors will come and ask you some questions about what happened, ok? The more information you can give us, the better it will help us treat him."

"Ok," Ed says reluctantly. "But I dunno much." He wants to help, but it's not like he knows what the hell happened before he walked through Roy's door this evening.

"You never know what might help." 

The nurse leads him to a small room with a table and a couple of plastic chairs. Ed takes a seat but struggles to sit still, jittery with anxiety. The plastic chair is one of the most uncomfortable he's ever had to sit on. 

"Just wait here, the doctor will be with you soon."

When he arrives, the doctor is an older guy with glasses and a somewhat grim demeanour. Ed sits up straighter, determined not to be intimidated.

"I'm Dr Knox," the doctor informs Ed gruffly. "I'm one of the neurologists."

"I'm Ed. I mean, Edward Elric." 

"What's your relationship to Mr Mustang?"

"He's my--" Ed stumbles to a halt, remembering the lie that he'd told and deciding that he'd better stick with it. "He's my partner," Ed says defiantly.

The doctor makes a grunt of acknowledgement, but doesn't seem inclined to make an issue of it.

"So what happened?"

"I don't know, I wasn't there. I only found him afterwards. He was really confused and he was bleeding, so I called the ambulance."

"You don't have any idea how long ago the attack occurred?"

Ed starts to shake his head, and then stops. "Before eight," he says. "We were supposed to meet up then, but he wasn't there. I waited a while but eventually got worried, so I went to his place to check on him. The door wasn't locked, and I found him on the floor in the corner, really confused."

"How'd you know he was confused?" Knox asks.

Ed tells him how Roy wasn't even sure of where he was, and that he seemed surprised every time Ed spoke to him, like he'd forgotten that Ed was there. 

Knox asks Ed a few more questions about the vomit and the blood and Roy's state when Ed found him. He seems particularly interested in the fact that Roy wasn't focusing on anything properly, and that he seemed to lose Ed as soon as Ed moved to his side.

The doctor asks him about Roy's medical history next, but Ed has to admit he has no idea. "We haven't been together that long," he says defensively, when the doctor looks at him over the top of his glasses with a frown. "And Roy doesn't like talking about himself. I'm pretty sure he has PTSD, though. He has nightmares and panic attacks." Ed's pretty sure Roy wouldn't like to be talked about like this, but Ed has no idea what information might be relevant here, so doesn't hold anything back. He'd rather Roy was alive and pissed at him than the alternative.

"What's the PTSD from?"

Ed shrugs. "I dunno. He used to be military, though, so I figured it was probably Ishval."

Dr Knox's expression changes quite sharply at the this statement, and he makes some notes in Roy's file. Ed wonders what that means, and whether it'll mean they treat Roy any differently. Ed can feel himself getting heated just at the thought; they'd _better_ take proper care of Roy or he'll raise ten kinds of hell. There isn't much Ed wouldn't do for someone he cares about.

"I'm guessing you don't have access to his military medical file?" Knox asks, not sounding optimistic.

Ed shakes his head. "Sorry."

The doctor mutters something about trying to obtain it from the goddamn military bureaucrats, and shuffles his notes. After a few moments, he looks up again. "When did you last have intercourse with your partner?"

"I-- uh, what?" Ed asks, reeling slightly at this unexpected change in the direction of questioning. "Um, the night before last. Wednesday."

"Did you penetrate him?" 

Ed flushes but is determined not to look away. He's not embarrassed by the things he's done with Roy, only discussing them with a stranger. "No. He, uh, penetrated me," he says. "We haven't done it the other way around yet."

"All right."

That seems to wrap up the interview, and the doctor stands, mutters a vague thanks as he gathers his paperwork together, and strides out again.

Ed's not sure what to do next, but the nurse with the clipboard returns before too long. Roy has no record in the public hospital system, she tells him, so she needs his help to create one. Beyond Roy's name and address, however, Ed can't really answer any of her questions. He doesn't even know Roy's birthday, he has to admit. He wishes he'd taken a moment to hunt for Roy's wallet before they left, but he hadn't been thinking that far ahead.

"All right," the nurse says with a sigh, conceding that most of her fields are going to remain blank until Roy wakes up. "What about his next of kin? Can you give us their details?"

"I have no idea who that is," Ed says blankly. "His parents are dead and he doesn't have any siblings."

Ed hadn't really thought about it before, but Roy has to have _someone_ he turns to when he's in trouble. He'd said he didn't have a partner, but surely he'd at least have a friend. _Everyone_ has friends, right?

Ed suddenly feels like an interloper - he's known Roy all of three days and here he is sitting in the position of Roy's nearest and dearest, thanks to his lie. On the other hand, he reminds himself, he has no way of knowing who Roy actually _wants_ to be here, and until Ed can ask him, it's better that there's at least _someone_ who cares about Roy beside him when he wakes up.

Ed decides that as soon as Roy’s lucid, he’ll ask who Roy wants him to call. He feels an odd sort of reluctance to enacting the plan, not wanting to hand Roy over to someone else to care for, but he has no right to be possessive. He's just a guy who hired Roy a couple of times, even if he'd like to think that they're sort of friends, too. 

"Do you know if he has medical insurance, or whether he's eligible for public coverage?" The nurse asks, continuing on with her form.

"Uh, I dunno. But it doesn't matter - if he's not covered, I'll pay for him, for everything."

"We don't know what kind of treatment he may require as yet--"

"Doesn't matter. I'm good for it."

The nurse looks at him speculatively, but just makes a note on the form.

"All right, I think we're done," she says. "We have a waiting lounge for relatives, I'll take you there now." The nurse stands, and Ed follows suit. 

"How long before I can see him?" he asks.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you," she says. "Roy's gone to have scans on his head. When they get the results, it's possible he may need to go in for surgery. There are a lot of variables - how long they have to wait for a scanner, what the scans show, and what they need to do to stabilise him. After that, it depends on how he responds to treatment. Eventually he'll be moved to either the ICU or a general ward, and you'll be able to see him then."

"How long _could_ it take?"

"It could take hours, I'm sorry. If you need to head home we can give you a call--"

"I'm not going anywhere," Ed says stubbornly. "I'll wait as long as it takes - all night if I have to."

"It's up to you," she says, but Ed catches an approving glint in her eye. "If you wait in the visitor's lounge, one of the doctors will come and talk to you as soon as they have him stabilised and have a better idea of what's going on."

Ed nods. "Ok, I'll do that, then."

The nurse smiles at him, looking tired, and squeezes his shoulder. "Try not to worry. He's in good hands."

This small kindness nearly has Ed tearing up. "Thanks," he says, a little hoarse.

He follows her out of the interview room and through winding corridors to an area with rows of chairs along the walls. These are a step up from those in emergency, at least having some padding on the seat and back. Ed's not the only one there. There's an older couple sitting together, looking exhausted and clinging to each other's hands. In another corner is a middle-aged woman with a girl of maybe twelve, who's fixated on her phone. All four are pale and drawn with worry. Ed knows the feeling all too well.

The nurse leaves him to his vigil. Ed sits down for a few minutes, but the churning in his stomach compels him to get up and pace back and forth across the room instead, clutching Roy's satchel like some kind of talisman. His brain keeps replaying fragments from the past half an hour: Roy sitting jammed in the corner, the blood on the bed, Roy convulsing on the floor. Roy gripping his wrist, his lifeless sprawl as the paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher. 

Ed suddenly feels utterly overwhelmed; shaky and exhausted. He remembers suddenly that he’s missed dinner, but feels too sick to contemplate eating.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hits a shortcut. Al picks up after only a few rings.

"Brother?"

"Al," Ed says, his voice cracking. 

"What's wrong?" Al asks immediately.

"Roy was attacked," Ed says, sitting down abruptly. "He's really hurt. I called an ambulance and they brought us to the hospital but they took him away and wouldn't let me go with him and I don't know where he is now and they said it could be hours before anyone tells me anything!"

"Are you all right?" Al demands as soon as Ed stops for breath. "Were you hurt too?"

"No, no, I'm fine. I wasn't there. He didn't meet me so I went and found him and he was really confused and _bleeding_ \--" Ed's voice breaks again.

"Shh, shh, it's all right," Al soothes. "The doctors will look after him, he's in the best place he can be right now. Which hospital are you at?"

Ed has to stop and think before he can drag the location from his memory; he wasn't exactly paying much attention on the way in.

"All right, I'll be there as soon as I can. I need to hang up now to call a taxi, but message me as much you want, and I'll reply when I can."

"Ok," Ed says, impossibly grateful for his brother's support. "Thanks, Al."

"Anything for you, brother. I'll see you soon."

Ed pushes his phone back into his pocket and then drops his head forward into his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

Now there's not a damn thing he can do except wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who commented last chapter, especially the "how could you stop it there?" comments - I'm pretty thrilled to know people are invested enough to worry about what's going to happen next! You guys have helped keep me enthused and writing every day (when real life allows), it's been awesome =D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy is scanned, poked, prodded, questioned, panicked, and finally admitted to the ICU; Ed is interviewed again, meets some other denizens of the hospital, and does a lot of waiting and worrying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the risk of sounding like a broken record - sorry this chapter took such a long time to get posted. I thought life was done kicking me around for a while - boy, was I wrong. I lost my position at work due to an asshole manager, had some bad news on the medical front, and my beloved grandmother died. I took a couple of weeks off writing and the internet to deal with family and the funeral and try and get my trainwreck of a life together. I also started new meds for the latest malfunction, and they really disagree with me, urgh.
> 
> Getting back to writing after the break has been a slog - the mental gears are rusty and my confidence has wobbled a bit, but I'm back to writing daily, at least. I'm also way behind on replying to all the amazing comments left on last chapter, but I promise I will get there! I figured I'd get this chapter posted first, as an apology for taking so long. But all the comments were amazing, and I was so buzzed that people seemed to engage with a chapter I'd been really worried about. 
> 
> Many thanks to my intrepid beta intentandinvention, who helped make this much better than it would have otherwise been!
> 
> Unsurprisingly, the 'references to sexual assault' warning will apply from this point onwards.

"Roy, I need you to open your eyes now," the voice says. The words sound familiar; Roy thinks it's not the first time this instruction has been given. His head hurts ferociously, and everything inside of it seems thoroughly jumbled, like a puzzle with half the pieces missing. He has no idea where he is or where he's supposed to be. 

Roy struggles against the grogginess to open his eyes, blinks at the sudden flare of brightness and tries to turn away from the light overhead.

"Hold your head still," the voice tells him. He doesn’t recognise it. "And keep your eyes open, please."

There are other people here too, Roy realises, moving around him. But he can't see them properly - the lights are too bright and he can't make sense of the shapes and shadows and movement.

More sensations start filtering in. There's something uncomfortable up his nose. He tries to get a hand to his face to pull it out, but someone grabs him by the wrist and presses his hand back down before he can get there.

Roy feels the first stirrings of panic. Why is he being restrained, by people he doesn't know? There's beeping somewhere nearby and people murmuring, but nothing he can hear makes any sense. 

"Just relax, Roy. We're taking care of you. Can you tell me your full name?"

Roy knows this question. It's the one question he's allowed to answer if captured. Is he a prisoner here? He grasps for memory but finds only blankness. His thoughts are molasses, sticky and slow.

"Cap'n Roy Mustang," Roy answers, although the words sound slurred and distorted to his own ears.

It feels like someone’s jackhammering at the inside of his skull, an incessant throb from ear to ear across the back of his head. He closes his eyes again, trying to get some relief from the light, even if he can't do anything about the noise.

"Roy, can you hold up two fingers for me?"

Roy tries to make sense of this command, but somehow it gets jumbled before he can actually perform it, his fingers twitching and then going slack again. He can feel sleep trying to drag him down to its warm, dark depths.

"Roy, I need you to stay awake and open your eyes," the voice tells him. 

Roy blinks his eyes open again, trying to obey, but he still can't make any sense of what he's seeing. There's something sharp and irritating at the inside of his wrist and he tries to reach for it with the other hand, but he's restrained again, hands pressing him down at the shoulder and wrist.

A fragment of memory suddenly hits him:

_\--hands on his shoulders, shoving him down, face-first into the mattress, weight coming down on top of him--_

"No!" Roy panics, fighting the hands holding him down, trying to get enough leverage to throw them off. There's a babble of voices around him, with one raised above them all, ordering him to stay calm, but Roy doesn't know where he is or what's happening, and all he can feel is the press of hands on his body and bone-deep fear. The nearby beeping is accelerating rapidly, the voices around him snapping out staccato phrases, incomprehensible and terrifying.

All of a sudden, a cool wave washes over him and the world starts to swim. His body relaxes despite itself, and he's dragged down into darkness once again.

* * *

Ed fiddles with his phone, mostly to keep his hand occupied. He checks his email, skims social media, loads the sites he frequents for new content. But he's not really seeing what's on the screen, too anxious to focus on anything but what might be happening with Roy.

He wishes Al was here already; Al's presence makes even the most difficult situations a little more bearable. He knows that he and Al are bordering on codependent at times, but he figures that this is one time he could be forgiven for wanting his brother at his side.

 _still waiting_ , he messages Al, just wanting to make some kind of contact.

Al messages back immediately: _I'm in a taxi, about ten minutes away. Hang in there._

 _not much else i can do_ , Ed replies. He flops back in his seat, letting his head rest against the wall and closing his eyes for a moment. They feel scratchy, like he's been awake all night, but it's not even ten o'clock yet. Less than two hours since he was supposed to meet Roy on his corner. 

"Would you like some juice, love?" 

Ed is so startled at being addressed that he fumbles his phone and only just manages to catch it.

He looks up to see an older woman standing in front of him, vaguely recognises her as one of the couple who’d been sitting the other side of the room when he came in. She's a little plump, round-cheeked and smiling kindly as she holds out a plastic tub of apple juice with a foil lid.

"There's a little kitchen," she says, indicating a small room on the other side of the hallway, "with a machine to make tea and coffee, and the fridge is full of juice. There are some snacks, too - biscuits and crackers with cheese, if you'd like me to get you something?"

Ed's stomach is so messed up he's not sure he could eat or drink right now, but he’s spent a lot of time in hospital waiting rooms and recognises that the offer has nothing to do with juice or biscuits - it's an offer of tacit support from one worried loved one to another. It's also a distraction for her as much as it is for Ed, and for her sake he nods.

"Thanks," he says. "Not hungry, but I'll take the juice." 

She hands it to him and he carefully starts peeling the top off, trying to gauge the right degree of grip to avoid crushing the plastic of the tub with his prosthesis. When he's managed to get most of the foil removed he takes a sip. It's cold and sweet and feels good on his throat. 

"I'm Helen," she says, and then gestures back to the other side of the room, where her companion is sitting and nursing a styrofoam cup between large hands. "That's my husband Henrik over there."

"Hey. I'm Ed. Edward."

"Nice to meet you, Edward," she says. "Do you have someone to come and keep you company? And have you told your parents you're here? They're probably worried."

Ed manages not to scowl at the assumption that he needs supervision, knowing that she means well - she's just concerned about someone who looks like a kid sitting in a hospital all by himself.

"Don't have any parents," Ed says, the half-truth he tells when he doesn't want to go into the complexities of his absent father. "But my brother's on his way." He neglects to mention that it's his younger brother, letting her assume what she will.

Helen looks relieved at this. "I'm glad to hear that. Hospitals can be pretty scary places when you're all by yourself."

Ed shrugs. "I'm kind of used to hospitals. It's the waiting that's the worst. When you're stuck out _here_ wondering what's going on in _there_." Ed jerks a thumb in the direction of the restricted area that the doctors seem to magically appear from and disappear to. "Once you know what's going on, you can start dealing with it, y'know? Even if it's bad news, at least you know."

"I know exactly what you mean, love. Waiting for news is the hardest part." Helen sighs. "Our son's still being operated on. We've been here for three or four hours already."

"Man, that sucks," Ed says sympathetically, and then winces as he realises that's not really appropriate language to use in front of grandmotherly-types.

But Helen chuckles at his expression. "It does suck, you're right. Nothing we can do except bear it as patiently as we can, though."

"I'm not much good at patient," Ed grimaces.

Helen leans in conspiratorially, and says: "Tell you what, love - neither am I!"

Ed can't help but return her grin. He gets the impression that if Helen was fifty-odd years younger, she'd be the sort of like-minded person he'd enjoy hanging out with.

Helen pats him on the arm. "Now, if you need anything at all, you come over and get me, all right?"

"Yeah, thanks," Ed says. He knows he's not likely to, but he appreciates the offer. 

Ed finishes his apple juice and tosses the container in a perfect arc to the bin. After a few minutes he feels a little steadier, the sugar hit kicking in. 

Ed remembers giving Roy juice after he'd fallen. Roy had gone white as a sheet after crashing down onto the concrete, and Ed had worried that he'd broken his wrist or something. To Ed's relief he'd picked up again after being patched up and having a drink and a rest. Al teases him about being a mother hen sometimes, but Ed can't help the urge to look after people who need it. 

Al arrives about half an hour after Ed calls. Ed sees him coming and jumps up to meet him halfway across the room. Al engulfs him in a hug without Ed needing to say a word. Just having his brother here as emotional backup makes Ed feel as if a massive weight has lifted from his shoulders.

"Are you all right?" Al asks, when he finally draws back to look at Ed, hands on his shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm ok. Just hate waiting."

"You haven't heard anything yet?" 

"Not yet," Ed says, anxiety swirling in his stomach at the thought of what might be happening out of his sight behind the restricted doors. "But they said it could be hours. They have to scan his head and stabilise him and maybe operate, depending on how bad it is."

Al guides him back to the row of chairs and into a seat, sitting down beside him.

"Sorry to drag you away from Mei," Ed says, belatedly remembering that his brother has a life of his own, too.

Al makes a dismissive sound. "Don't be stupid. You need me, so I'm here."

"Thanks, Al," Ed says, hoping Al can hear how much he appreciates it. They've been each other's primary support since they lost their mother, but he never wants to take Al for granted.

"Tell me what happened," Al says.

Ed gives him the condensed version, keeping his voice low so that they're not overheard. He starts stumbling over his words as he describes Roy's injuries and what was done him during the attack, but doesn't shy away from the details.

As he speaks all of the fear and frustration and anger seems to well up from inside of him and he suddenly has to move. He gets to his feet and heads off down the corridor until he hits a dead end, then storms back in the other direction, repeating the round trip until finally the overflow of emotion is back under control. He stops and presses his forehead against the coolness of the wall, Al coming to a stop beside him.

"They hurt him, Al. They punched him and cut him and _raped_ him. It wasn't like with us, it wasn't an accident. They did it _deliberately_!"

Al says nothing, just looks at Ed with heartfelt understanding.

"Who'd hurt Roy?" Ed rages. "He'd never hurt anyone else!"

"Sex workers are easy targets," Al says softly. "And bad people take advantage of easy targets."

"I want to _hurt_ them, Al. I've never wanted to hurt anyone so much in my entire life."

"I know. I don't blame you."

"You should have seen him, when I ran towards him. He flinched away from me, like he thought I was gonna _hurt_ him."

"He probably didn't realise it was you," Al says. "You said he was confused, right?"

"I know, but… fuck, Al, they just left him there like that! Bleeding and so messed up he didn't even know where he was. He crawled to the corner and hid there like a terrified fucking animal." The fury surges again and Ed has to fight it back down. "What kind of human beings could _do_ that?"

"Sociopaths," Al replies. "People who never developed any empathy for others."

"Goddamn fucking monsters," Ed spits viciously.

"Yes, they are."

"They were in his _apartment_ , Al. He doesn't take clients there, he said he always goes to their place or to hotels. He should have been safe there!"

"He should have," Al agrees. “And being attacked in what should’ve been a safe place is going to make it even harder for him to feel safe anywhere, in future.”

"I dunno what to do, Al," Ed says, the maelstrom of anger and frustration finally winding down, to be replaced with a sense of helplessness and grief.

"Yes you do."

Ed looks at Al, caught by surprise at this assertion. 

Al gives him a gentle smile. "First you wait until the doctor gives you news. And then you wait for him to wake up. And then you sit with him and ask if there's anything he needs. And even if he says no, you keep sitting with him so that he isn't alone. After that, you take it day by day. It's going to be a long road, and he's going to need a friend to help him through it. You know how to do that, though. You did it with me."

And Al proves again why he’s the best brother in the world: somehow he’s made the terrifying expanse of future directly ahead seem possible to deal with. One step at a time - Ed can do that. Of course, even though he’s more than willing, it doesn’t necessarily mean Roy will want him on board.

"He probably already has friends. Other friends, that I don't even know about," Ed says glumly.

"Is there a limit on how many friends someone can have?" Al asks archly. "Is there a point at which having someone who genuinely cares is no longer of value?"

"I guess not," Ed grumbles, forced to concede. As much as he loves him, sometimes Ed gets a little irritated by the fact that Al's always right about everything. Ed’s the older brother, he should be the one who gets to come out with profound shit all the time.

"So, step one: we wait. I know you hate waiting, but I also know you can do it. How long did you wait for me?"

"Three fucking months," Ed says. "While you lay there like some princess waiting for your goddamn prince." It's an old joke between them, one of the many ways they coped through the horrific year that followed the accident.

Al grins. "So, we know you can do it when you have to. Come on, let's go back and sit down."

Ed mutters darkly but follows Al back to the waiting room, where they take their seats again.

A doctor appears not long after that and Ed and Al both look up hopefully, but he makes his way over to the two women sitting together. Ed huffs a sigh, resigned to his ongoing vigil. 

The doctor speaks to the pair quietly and Ed can't quite make out what he's saying, but from the look of relief on the mother's face, the news is better than they'd hoped. The doctor says something and mother and daughter both nod enthusiastically, then gather their things. The doctor gestures for them to follow, and all three disappear.

"Good news," Al comments.

"Mmm."

"Let's hope there's more of it to go around."

"Yeah," Ed says, somewhat doubtfully.

Ed's thoughts are wandering through some pretty dark places at the moment. Even if the docs come back with the best possible news, that Roy's awake and his brain is A-OK, it won't change the fact that he was attacked and raped. That's not something you can just shake off. Al was right when he said Roy has a long road ahead of him. Ed doesn't even know how you'd _start_ trying to recover from something like that.

That kind of violation isn't something Ed's had any reason to think about before. He tries to imagine it, the act that he and Roy had performed together only two nights ago, but with someone he doesn't know and doesn't want on top of him, holding him down. His mind rejects the idea almost violently.

The idea of someone doing that to Roy is horrific. Ed can't even comprehend how or why anyone could force themselves on another human being, but the thought of it happening to Roy - the thought of someone fucking him so violently they make him bleed that much - makes him shake with rage. It makes him want to put his fist through a wall - the flesh one, so he feels the impact with every nerve. Only the small voice of reason that reminds him that he can’t look out for Roy if he gets thrown out of the hospital stops him from actually doing it.

"Brother," Al says gently, pulling him from his thoughts.

"What?" Ed snaps, trying and failing to rein in his frustration and anger. He knows that Al of all people doesn't deserve it, but he feels like his seams are unravelling, emotions spilling out everywhere, and he can't seem to stem the flow.

"Tell me more about Roy."

Ed looks at his brother, confused and irritated. "Right now? What for?"

"Whatever you're thinking about isn't going to help either of you. Tell me what you like about Roy, instead. Tell me why you think he's special."

Al's request derails Ed's train of thought completely, which was obviously his intent. Ed has to mentally grope to try and gather his thoughts on the matter and get them in some semblance of order.

"He's kind," Ed says eventually. "There's like, a hundred different things I like about him, but I think that's what most of them come down to. He's gentle, and thoughtful, and respectful. He always asks before he does anything to me, and never tries to push me into anything. But he doesn't treat me like I'm fragile, either. If I tell him I can take something, he trusts me to be able to, and doesn't try to second-guess me. He's smart as hell but never tries to show it off. He doesn't pity me. He doesn't try and avoid the topics other people find awkward, he asks about my arm and leg just like he'd ask about anything else."

Ed remembers back to the first night, when they'd been alone together in the bedroom. "He knew that I was nervous about taking off my shirt, so he took off his first to show me his scar."

"His scar?" Al asks.

"A burn, a really bad one. Over half of his stomach and around his side. I dunno what happened - he didn't ask me, so I didn't ask him - but he showed it to me to make me feel better. He let me look as much as I wanted, and touch it and everything."

"I see," says Al, and Ed can tell from Al's expression that Roy's already won his approval.

Ed continues to talk about Roy, and the kindnesses that Roy’s bestowed upon him, large and small. The world slowly blurs, and Ed is startled when he feels tears start running down his cheeks. He wipes them off with his sleeve and keeps talking, not wanting to stop now he's started, as if he can make Roy recover if only he can find the words to describe all the reasons that Roy deserves to be whole and well again.

"I really want him to be ok, Al," Ed says finally, his voice hoarse and tears dripping off his chin.

"I know," Al says, "I know."

Ed's attention is caught by movement, and he looks up to see Helen offering him a travel pack of tissues.

"Here, love. We've been through a pack of our own tonight already," she says sympathetically.

Ed takes them and pulls one out to wipe his face with and then another to blow his nose on.

"Thanks," he says, with a watery smile.

Helen sits down next to him and rubs a comforting hand up and down his back. Ed's not really used to comfort from anyone but Al. Pinako had taken care of them for their teenage years, but wasn't exactly the most emotionally physically demonstrative person ever. It's kind of nice, Ed finds, this motherly sort of care and concern. 

"It'll be all right," she says. "Whoever it is you're waiting for is in good hands."

"My friend," Ed says. "Roy. He was– he was hurt."

Helen nods sympathetically, encouraging Ed to go on.

"He got beaten up. He hit his head and had a seizure and I dunno when he's gonna wake up, or how scrambled his brains'll be when he does."

"I'm sorry, love. That sounds pretty scary," Helen says.

Ed would resent the fact that he's being spoken to like a child, if it wasn't for the fact that he sort of feels like one right now. The whole situation is overwhelming. 

"Yeah. Head injuries suck," Ed says with feeling, "because you have to wait for them to wake up before you know how bad things really are."

Ed feels Al's hand wrap around his and squeeze.

"Waiting is hard," Helen agrees. "We've been here hours already and our son's still in surgery," she explains to Al. "I keep telling Henrik that the fact that we haven't heard anything is good, it means they're still working on him and he's still in there fighting. But it isn't easy."

"I'm sorry about your son," Al says. "Hopefully the surgery will be successful."

"Thank you, love," Helen says, patting Al's knee.

She sits with him for another few minutes, until Ed's calmed down and is feeling a little sheepish about his meltdown.

"Sorry about the crying and stuff," he mumbles, blowing his nose again. He's pretty sure his eyes are red and his cheeks are blotchy, now. His face has always given him away after crying.

"Don't be embarrassed, love! We all need a good cry every so often. Get it all out now, and then you can go see your friend with a smile on your face, eh?" 

Ed nods and attempts a smile, but it's still a little wobbly. "Yeah, that's the plan," he says. Right now Al's letting Ed lean on him emotionally, but once Roy's awake, Ed's gotta toughen up so that he can be the strong one for Roy. Roy's going to need someone to smile for him for a while, Ed figures.

Ed tries to hand the rest of the pack of tissues back to Helen, but she waves him off. "You keep them, just in case," she says kindly. "And come see me if you need any more." She pats his back again and then heads back to her husband.

"She's a nice lady," Al says.

"Yeah," Ed says. "Hope her kid's ok."

Al nods agreement. 

Ed sits back in his chair, fiddling with the strap of Roy's satchel. "It's stupid to be this messed up about someone I barely even know, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't. You care about people, and that isn't a bad thing," Al says firmly. 

"But I've known him for less than a week!"

Al smiles at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Everything you do, you do wholeheartedly, a hundred percent. It's one of the things I admire about you, brother. When you find someone worth caring about, you give them a place in your heart, regardless of how long you've known them."

"I still shouldn't be this upset, it's stupid."

"You shouldn't be upset about the fact that someone you care for was viciously attacked, raped, and is currently in hospital with a traumatic brain injury?" Al asks.

Ed winces at this brutally frank description.

"The compassion that made you cry just now also made you go and look for him when he didn't turn up on time, when most people would have just turned around and gone home again. You quite possibly saved his life. How is that in any way stupid?"

Ed can't find a way to argue with that. It terrifies him to think of how close Roy may have come to permanent brain injury or death if he hadn't been brought to hospital so quickly.

Al bumps his shoulder against Ed's. "So give up with this 'I shouldn't feel' and 'it's stupid' crap. You feel what you feel. You care about people, and that's an admirable trait. If anyone tells you differently, they'll answer to me." There's steel in Al's voice, and Ed knows that his brother would come down like a ton of bricks on anyone who gave Ed a hard time about being too soft-hearted.

Ed tips his head to lean it on Al's shoulder in gratitude. "Thanks, Al." He's too emotionally trashed to say more, but hopefully Al knows how grateful he is for the reassurance. He ends up remaining there, not finding the motivation to actually lift his head again, but Al doesn't seem to mind being leant on. 

He sits up hopefully when another doctor appears in the room, but Helen and Henrik approach her immediately, so Ed figures she must be the one looking after their son.

Ed listens in curiously as the doctor gives them an update on the surgery, telling them it went relatively well, and that the internal injuries have been repaired and the bleeding stopped. For a moment the couples' expressions brighten, but then the doctor continues, telling them that the femur break, on the other hand, is exceptionally bad, and caused an interruption to the blood supply of his leg. Ed goes cold at the words, knowing all too well what that kind of damage to the femoral artery can result in. The doctor's next words justify Ed’s fears, as he describes how they've attempted to repair the damage, but that there's a significant chance they may be forced to amputate.

Al's hand clenches into a fist, although Ed's not sure if it's deliberate. Ed knows that Al sometimes feels guilty that his body eventually recovered from its trauma, while Ed was left with more significant physical effects. But Ed harbours no resentment towards him whatsoever - if one of them had to come out of it less than whole, he'd have fought tooth and nail for it to be him. 

After the doctor leaves, Henrik and Helen crumple back into their plastic chairs, Henrik's arm around his wife's shoulder as she cries into his shoulder. Henrik's forehead is lined with worry. 

Ed debates whether or not to say anything for the next few minutes. It's not like he really knows them or anything, and she already has her husband there for support. But Helen was kind enough to come over and and comfort Ed when he was upset. And Ed figures that of all people, he has something to say that they could probably do with hearing.

When Helen blows her nose and wipes her eyes, Ed gets to his feet and heads over, stopping in front of her with his hands shoved in his pockets. 

"Hey," he says awkwardly. They both look up at him, Helen still dabbing her face, eyes red.

"Look, maybe it's not my place to say, and I know it's not what you were hoping to hear, but it's actually pretty good news. The most important thing is that his head's intact, right? That's what makes him _him_. And they got his insides fixed up, so he's out of danger. They might still fix his leg, but even if he does lose it, he'll still be ok."

Ed pulls up his trouser leg to reveal the prosthetic and knocks on his thigh to show them how high up it goes. 

"I get around all right, don't I?" he offers with an attempt at a smile. "I mean, it still sucks, not gonna deny it, but you get used to it. The important thing is that I'm still _me_ , and I find ways to do the things I need to. Your kid'll do the same, if it comes to that."

At this Helen bursts into tears again and Ed looks at her aghast, wondering if he's made things worse, but the next moment he's being hugged to within an inch of his life, so maybe he did all right.

"Thank you, love," Helen says, muffled against his shoulder. Ed pats her back gingerly, not used to having people cry on him. 

When Helen finally releases him, Ed takes a step back, feeling awkward again. 

"You're right," Helen says, eyes still looking watery, but with a new determination now. "The important thing is that he'll recover, with or without the leg."

Ed nods. "Exactly! Just gotta let the docs do their thing and keep your fingers crossed."

Helen nods. "We will, love," she assures him.

"You're a good lad," Henrik says, startling Ed slightly. It's the first time Ed's heard him actually speak. 

Henrik offers a hand for Ed to shake; the right, as usual. Ed hesitates, but then reaches out to clasp and shake his hand with the prosthetic.

Henrik frowns in confusion at the sensation, and once he's released Ed's hand, Ed pulls off the glove. "Oh yeah, I lost an arm along the way, too," he says, almost sheepishly. 

For some reason this sets Helen off again, and he endures another hug and a few more tears. Ed senses a 'you're such a brave young man' speech coming on, and hastily jumps in to avert it. "Anyway, hopefully the docs will work their magic. Just gotta hang in there." He pats Helen on the back the same way she'd done for him and quickly heads back to his side of the room.

Ed flops back down onto the chair beside Al.

"Well done, brother," Al says.

Ed shrugs. "Figured it might help."

"You care," Al says with quiet satisfaction. 

"Bah." Ed rolls his eyes, but secretly he's always pleased to earn his brother's praise. He's also glad that he could do something to help someone else; right now he feels particularly useless, unable to do anything but wait.

Not long after that, a nurse appears in the entranceway to the room and gestures towards where Ed and Al are sitting. Behind her are two military officers, the teal shoulders and silver braid of their uniform marking them as police branch.

Ed sits up a little straighter, wary. Seeing the uniform always causes a moment of paranoia, even though he's always tended towards minor misdemeanours rather than anything approaching a felony, and he's never been charged with anything. But the police have something of a reputation for coming down hard and not necessarily listening to reason, and Ed's found that the best policy is to avoid them whenever possible.

In this particular case, he has no idea whether they're going to consider him a witness or a suspect. 

The nurse disappears again and the two officers approach Ed and Al. The woman has short, dark hair and a mole beneath one eye. Her male companion is a little scruffier, with chin-length straw-coloured hair. 

"Edward Elric?" the female officer asks.

"That's me," Ed says cautiously, looking from one to the other. 

"I'm Lieutenant Maria Ross, and this is my partner, Sergeant Denny Brosh. We'd like to ask you some questions about the attack on Roy Mustang this evening. Could you come with us please?"

Ed hesitates. He doesn't object to being interviewed, but he's concerned that if he's not waiting where he was told he might miss any updates from the docs.

"You go, I'll wait here," Al says, in tune with Ed as always. "As soon as there's any news, I'll message you."

"Thanks, Al."

Ed follows the officers, who lead him to a small room nearby. It's designed for doctors to talk to the families of patients privately, and there's no table, just several sofas. Ed takes a seat on one, and the police sit on the other.

"We were told you were the one who called for an ambulance for Mr Mustang this evening?" the lieutenant asks.

Ed nods. "Yeah."

"And you're his partner?" 

"Uh, yeah." Ed's stomach does a bit of a flip - lying to the paramedics is one thing, but lying to the police is another. Still, it'd look suspicious if he recanted now, so he doesn't have much choice except to stick to his story.

The sergeant asks for Ed's contact details, flipping open his notebook to a new page and scrawling them down as Ed provides them.

"Ok. Can you tell us what happened this evening in your own words?" Lieutenant Ross asks.

Ed knows that the best way to deal with police is to be straightforward and not say anything more than is required, so he gives a somewhat terse rendition of the events of the last two hours: "I was supposed to meet up with Roy at eight. He never showed, so I waited a while and then finally went to his place to check on him. His door was unlocked, so I went in, and he was on the floor. He was really confused and bleeding, so I called an ambulance."

Officer Brosh takes notes, the scratch of his pen loud when Ed finishes talking.

Lieutenant Ross’ questions get more and more specific after that. What time did Ed arrive at Roy's place? What was Roy wearing? What did he say? Did Ed notice anything out of place in the apartment? 

Ed answers truthfully and to the best of his ability, leaving out only the small detail that he had intended to pay Roy for his time. He says upfront that he's never been to Roy's place before tonight, Roy always having come back to his.

He thinks he's doing reasonably well, until he's tripped up by a simple question:

"What does Mr Mustang do for a living?"

Ed's brain suddenly jams. He doesn't want to lie to the police, but he knows that a lot of people have preconceptions about hookers, and believe that the fact they're selling their bodies for sex means that it's their own fault when other people take advantage of it. The police in particular have a reputation for treating sex workers like second-class citizens, even though it's rumoured that they're also some of their most frequent customers. 

Ed tries to think of a plausible half-truth, but by the time he comes up with something, he knows that he's already taken too long to answer. 

"We need you to tell us the truth if you want us to help him," Lieutenant Ross says. When Ed remains silent, she adds: "Mr Mustang's not currently under investigation, and we're not looking to prosecute him for anything. He's the victim here. We just want to find out what happened."

Ed knows that her points are valid and that the police have to be told, but is still resentful that he's being forced to make Roy's private life public like this. It feels tawdry, exposing him when he's at his most vulnerable.

"He's a sex worker," Ed says reluctantly. He knows he shouldn't say anything else, but can't seem to help the words that burst from him hotly: "But that doesn't mean that he was asking for it, or that he deserved it!" He glares at the two officers, daring them to disagree.

Lieutenant Ross looks startled by Ed's outburst. "Of course not," she says. "We've spoken with the paramedics, and it's clear that an assault took place. We're not looking to place blame on anyone but the attacker or attackers."

It's a nice spiel, but Ed's not entirely convinced that it's genuine. He has no reason to trust that the police have Roy's best interests at heart.

"We're here to find out what happened, to get enough evidence so that we can prosecute whoever committed the assault on your partner. Anything you can tell us might help us identify the attacker or attackers."

"All right," Ed says, going along with it, although he's still not entirely sold. 

"Is Mr Mustang involved with buying, selling, or using drugs?"

"No!" Ed says indignantly. He's seen no evidence of track marks or other typical signs of drug use on Roy's body.

"Does he gamble, or have any debts?"

"Not that I know of."

"Do you know of any reason why somebody would want to hurt him?"

"No," Ed says, but as he does, he remembers an offhand comment Roy made that first night at Ed's place.

Something in his expression must give him away, because Lieutenant Ross gives him another verbal prod. "Anything you can tell us might help."

"Look, I don't know anyone specific who might wanna hurt him. But he said once that sometimes guys who are deep in the closet pick him up, and then afterwards they're angry with themselves and take it out on him. That's all he said."

"Take it out on him in what way?"

"I dunno, he didn't say. I figured he meant that they shouted at him or hit him. Madeleine said she's seen him beaten up before."

"Madeleine was the person who was with you when you found Mr Mustang initially?"

"Yeah."

"Can we get her contact details?"

"Uh, I don't have them."

"How did you contact her, then?"

Ed shrugs. "I just walked to where she was working."

"Ah. She's a sex worker, too?" 

Ed feels himself bristle again at the judgement he hears in her tone. "She helped me out," he says, more aggressively than is probably warranted. "If it wasn't for her Roy would still be on the floor, bleeding and having seizures all alone."

Fortunately for Ed, Lieutenant Ross doesn't react to his anger, remaining calm and polite. "Can you tell us how to find her?"

Ed describes Madeleine's usual location, feeling vaguely guilty as he does. He doesn't want to drop her in the middle of all of this, but she might have information that can help Roy, and she's the closest thing Ed has to an alibi. He imagines that she won't exactly be thrilled to be approached by police officers, but these two seem decent enough, so hopefully they won't give her a hard time.

"Can you tell us what you were doing, during the couple of hours before you went to Mr Mustang's?"

Ed gives them a run-down, and they proceed to ask for time estimates on everything, and question all the little details. The thoroughness is pretty intimidating, even though they aren't being aggressive or accusatory.

Eventually the officers exhaust their supply of questions. Lieutenant Ross goes over the notes her partner has been taking, finally nodding and shutting the notebook, which Ed hopes signals the end of the interview. He feels emotionally exhausted, and even though Al promised to keep him informed, keeps worrying that he's going to miss an update on Roy.

"Am I a suspect?" Ed asks finally. He knows he sounds defensive, but he's too tired to even try to hide it.

Lieutenant Ross smiles at him, and Ed gets the sense the openness and sincerity is real. "No, you're not a suspect, Edward. That may change, depending on Mr Mustang's testimony and the analysis of the evidence from the apartment, but at the moment, there's nothing to indicate that you were involved as anything other than a witness."

Ed finally relaxes a fraction. He's getting the feeling that he can trust Ross, although he doesn't have anything to back it up just yet. "Do you have any idea who _did_ do it?"

"We still need to speak to Mr Mustang and the other witnesses before we can compile and cross-reference all the data," she says, which Ed recognises as meaning that they have no freaking clues as yet. 

"Can I go now?"

Lieutenant Ross nods. "Thank you for cooperating, Edward," she says. "I know this is a difficult time for you."

Ed shrugs. "I just gotta wait for him to wake up. You guys are the ones who have to figure out who did it and catch them."

"Leave it to us!" Sergeant Brosh says, and Lieutenant Ross gives him a slightly indulgent smile. 

They escort Ed back to the waiting room before heading out, and Ed returns to his seat next to Al again.

"No news on Roy," Al says immediately, knowing what Ed will want to hear first. "Are you ok?"

Ed nods. "Lotta questions, but they weren't hassling me or anything. I think they actually wanna find out what happened and nail the fuckers."

"That's good!"

Ed nods, too weary to be more enthused. He looks around the room and notices that Helen and Henrik have disappeared, and another small family has arrived to take their place. 

"Any news on their kid?" Ed asks, gesturing to where Helen and Henrik had been sitting. 

Al shakes his head. "Too early for the docs to tell about the leg."

Ed nods again and settles back in his chair, resigned to more waiting.

It feels like half the night has passed before Dr Knox approaches, but Ed flicks a glance at the clock on the wall which says it's half past eleven - somehow he's only been at the hospital two hours. It feels a lot longer.

Dr Knox heads in their direction, and Ed lurches to his feet and moves to meet him, anxious for news. Al follows behind.

"How is he?" Ed demands, unable to contain himself. 

"Roy's stable, for the moment," the doctor says. Ed isn't sure exactly what 'stable' implies in this particular context, but figures it's gotta be better than the alternative.

"We've done a CAT scan and an MRI scan of his brain," the doctor continues. "They showed some minor swelling and bruising in the region of the head injury. Our goal now is to keep the swelling down. The skull is an enclosed space, so any swelling of the brain can cause an increase in pressure which can cause further damage to the brain itself. That's what we want to prevent, obviously."

"Are you going to operate?"

"We don't plan on it, right now. We'd only operate if there was an obvious bleed or the ICP increased above a particular threshold, but there's no indications for it at the moment. We're managing the swelling with less invasive methods for now."

"That's good, right?" Ed dares to hope that the damage will prove to be be minimal.

Dr Knox nods, but his expression is still somewhat reserved. "His prognosis is reasonable at this point, as long as we can manage the swelling. But it's still early days, so it will depend how he responds over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

"Has he woken up yet?" Ed asks.

"He did regain consciousness briefly, but was quite agitated, so we were forced to sedate him."

Ed feels a stab of frustration that he couldn't be there to help soothe and orient Roy when he awoke. Small wonder he was freaked out, waking up in a strange place with people he doesn't recognise all around him, touching him and fussing over him. Ed's sure he would have been upset about it, too.

"That's a good sign, though, right? Means he's not in a coma?"

"He's not in a coma, no. We suspect the lethargy is as much a result of the seizure as the swelling."

"So, do you know how bad it is? I mean, how badly the damage will affect him yet?"

"I'm afraid it's much too early to tell the extent of the damage or his prognosis for recovery, as yet," Knox says, and Ed's heart sinks a little. It sounds like the news is halfway between good and bad - the damage could certainly have been a heck of a lot worse, but it's still enough to be concerned about. Ed reminds himself that Al's brain injury had been pretty catastrophic, and he'd made almost a full recovery, even if it had taken him years to get there. 

"Has Roy ever indicated that he's had a previous head injury?" Knox asks.

Ed frowns and shakes his head. "Why?"

"The scans show that there's damage to the occipital lobe area of his brain, but it doesn't seem related to the current trauma, which indicates that there may have been a previous head injury at some point."

Ed blinks. "I dunno anything about that."

"This is why it would be useful for the military to share their records with the public health system," the doctor grumbles.

"Can I see him now?" Ed asks. 

"Soon. He's been transferred to the ICU and is being settled in now. If you head to the ICU visitors' room, a nurse will come and find you when he's ready. I'll come and speak to you further there." 

Ed's buzzed to get out of this plastic-filled waiting room, even if it is only to be moved to another waiting area. It's still a step closer to Roy.

He and Al follow the signs the doctor indicated. They find the ICU visitor's lounge opposite double doors marked 'Neurological ICU'. The lounge is another step up from the previous waiting area, with comfortable chairs, coffee tables with magazines, even a TV. Ed knows first hand how long some patients can be stuck in the ICU, so is glad the hospital has provided somewhere decent for relatives and friends to take breaks. 

The waiting room room is empty right now, so Ed flops down onto a couch and Al sits beside him.

A nurse appears about quarter of an hour later. 

"Edward Elric?"

"That's me."

The nurse smiles at him as she approaches. She's young, probably only mid twenties or so, but has an air of competence about her. When she turns her head, Ed can see that she has a red birthmark covering half her ear and some of her neck. Ed is strangely pleased by the disfigurement, feeling the same kinship of bodily imperfection with her as he did with Roy.

"I'm Judith, I'm looking after Roy tonight," the nurse says, and then hesitates, looking from Ed to Al and back again. "You're Roy's partner?" she asks somewhat dubiously, obviously contemplating Ed's apparent age in relation to Roy's.

"I'm eighteen, it's legal," Ed says, trying not to get his hackles up. He knows that nurses are the gatekeepers of the wards – you don't piss them off if you don't want to be thrown out.

"Ok," she says, with a placating smile. "And who is this?"

"This is my brother, Al." 

"Hi, Al." Judith greets him.

"Pleased to meet you," Al replies, ever-polite.

"Can I see him now?" Ed asks. He knows he sounds impatient, but he's been waiting anxiously for hours now.

"You can," Judith smiles. "I'm here to take you in now. But when you see him, Roy is going to be hooked up to a lot of machines," she adds. "They might look pretty scary, but they're there to monitor him and let us know if anything changes. He's still unconscious right now, so he won't respond to anything you say or do."

"My brother was in a coma for three months," Ed says bluntly. "I know what to expect in an ICU."

The nurse looks slightly taken aback at that.

"We've been in and out of hospitals since we were kids," Ed says, trying to sound reasonable rather than impatient. "You don't have to sugar-coat anything for us or dumb it down, we're not gonna freak out on you or anything. It's cool."

"Ok," Judith says with a wry smile. "I'll save that part of the spiel. I do have to give you all the routine information, though. Visiting hours in the ICU are open, but you may be asked to leave when we have to perform certain procedures or if we need to administer urgent care, in which case you're welcome to wait out here in the visitor's area. We ask that visitors are limited to immediate family and close friends, and no more than two at a time." 

Ed and Al both nod acknowledgement.

"We're very big on infection control here, because so many of our patients are so vulnerable, so we ask that you disinfect your hands before you go in, and try not to touch any of the monitors or equipment around the beds."

Ed heads over to the bottle of sanitiser attached to the wall. Keeping his back to the nurse, he pulls off his gloves, squirting some sanitiser onto his palm and rubbing it in with his fingers, and then rubbing some more over the prosthetic. He pushes the artificial hand into his pocket before turning back around. Al follows Ed's example, and Judith smiles at them in approval.

"I can still touch Roy, though, right? Hold his hand and stuff?" Ed remembers some of the more awesome nurses letting him lie on the bed next to Al when he was unconscious and hug him, but others had been much stricter about enforcing the rules. 

"Of course," Judith says. "Gentle physical contact with loved ones is encouraged."

Ed is grateful for that, at least. 

Judith heads back towards the ward doors, and Ed starts to follow, turning back to make sure Al is following.

But Al just smiles and waves him on. "You go in first, brother. I'll come in a few minutes."

Ed realises that Al's waiting behind to give him a little time alone with Roy, and nods gratefully. 

Ed steps into the ICU cautiously. It's been a long time since Al was in a room like this, but it still brings back memories.

Roy is lying in a bed, the head lifted at an angle and the sides raised. His hair is dark against the stark white linen. He's been changed into a hospital gown, and there's a blanket pulled up to his waist. The bed is surrounded by medical paraphernalia: screens with numbers and squiggly lines, a drip stand, several machines Ed can't even identify. He has a nasal oxygen tube, and a drip line going into each arm. His left hand is immobilised with a foam splint and soft cloth straps. A sensor clip is attached to one of his fingers. 

It's not as bad as Al at his worst - Roy doesn't have a breathing tube down his throat or a feeding tube up his nose, at least - but it's still pretty intimidating. Ed approaches slowly. 

Roy's eyes are closed, his face relaxed, and there's nothing to indicate that he's not just sleeping. If it wasn't for the signs of violence on his face he'd look kind of peaceful.

"Hey," Ed says. His voice comes out pathetically weak, so he clears his throat and tries again. "Hey, slacker. What are you doing just lying around? We had a date, didn't we?"

Roy doesn't stir, and the machines continue their regular pattern of beeping.

Ed steps closer. Roy's hand is lying limply on the top of the blanket, fingers half-curled. Roy's hands are no wider than Ed's, but his fingers are longer – Ed's fingers are a little stubby and the ends are kind of square, where Roy's are nicely rounded.

Ed closes his hand gently around Roy's. Roy's warmer now, he's glad to find. The ICU room is decently heated, which makes sense, since the patients are lying around in nothing but cotton gowns with only thin blankets to cover them. 

Roy's not the only patient in the ICU. There are four beds, each in a corner of the room, with the nurses' station in the middle. Beside two of the other patients are loved ones watching over them. All of the patients are sleeping or unconscious, their visitors silent.

There are two nurses sitting at the station in the centre of the room on the computers, a third tending to a patient, and Judith is reading one of Roy's monitors and making notes in his chart.

"You better wake up so we can reschedule," Ed says. "You're not getting out of it that easily."

Ed strokes Roy's hand with his thumb, fingers gripping a fraction tighter.

"Only when you're feeling up to it, though. And you don't have to, if you really don't want to. But you gotta wake up and tell me, either way, ok?"

Judith moves back to the nurse's desk after a few minutes, and Ed leans down close to Roy's ear to speak without being overhead. There are some things he doesn't think he can say in front of an audience.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," he whispers, fighting back a sudden welling of tears. "It's fucked up, and it sucks, and I'm sorry. But you'll be ok. And I'm here, if you need me. I'm gonna stick around for as long as you need someone, ok? You're not gonna have to fight this alone." Ed presses a kiss to Roy's temple, and then draws back to stand by the bedside again, wiping his sleeve across his eyes and struggling for composure. 

Al comes in after giving Ed a few minutes, moving to stand next to Ed at Roy's bedside. Ed gives him a slightly wobbly smile.

"Hey, Al, this is Roy."

He tries to see Roy as Al is seeing him for the first time: a pale, still figure, the bruises and marks on his face making him look exceptionally vulnerable. His hair is messy and tangled, his eyelashes dark against pale cheeks. 

Ed knows it's not how Roy would want to be seen, and Ed certainly wishes he could have made the introduction under better circumstances.

"Hi, Roy," Al says softly.

"Roy, this is my brother, Al. I kind of expected you to be conscious when I finally got around to introducing you guys, so that we could all share in the awkwardness. Guess you got out of it this time. It's only a temporary reprieve, though - you can't avoid it forever."

"I can see why you noticed him," Al says, giving Ed an amused look.

"I _told_ you he was hot," Ed says, half proud and half embarrassed.

"Well, we both have good taste," Al smirks. 

Roy and Mei do have a superficial resemblance, Ed realises, thanks to the strong Xianese genetic stamp. Roy is paler, though, especially right now, and his face is longer.

"Yeah," Ed grins in reply, but the expression quickly fades. "But the outside's just a bonus." 

Roy's looks may have been what made Ed stop that night they met, but they don't have anything to do with why he's here now.

"I know," Al says gently, and Ed knows he understands.

Ed lets go of Roy's hand so that he can stroke Roy's hair, trying to neaten the disordered locks. The nurses have cleaned the blood from Roy's face, but his lower lip is still noticeably split, and his eye is a little more swollen than it was previously. Ed's not the most touchy-feely person ever - he leaves that to Al - but he can't help wanting to touch Roy, to reassure himself that Roy is solid and whole. He runs the backs of his fingers over Roy's cheek, feeling the faint rasp of stubble, although it's barely visible.

"Step one, remember, we wait," Al murmurs, and presses his shoulder against Ed's in a tacit gesture of support. "And you'll be here when he needs you."

Ed nods, drawing on his determination and using it to push down the worries threatening to overwhelm him. He forces himself to breathe slowly, calming his body and trying to get his mind to follow.

Dr Knox reappears twenty-odd minutes later. Ed turns to face him, anxious for more information. 

Knox reiterates what he'd told Ed earlier, with some elaboration: "If the pressure inside his skull gets too high, then we'll be forced to put in a shunt to drain some of the cerebrospinal fluid, but we're hoping it won't come to that. There are less invasive ways of managing ICP that we're trying first: keeping his head elevated, keeping his blood pressure stable, and keeping him hyperventilated. He's on a mild sedative to keep him relaxed. And we're trying a medication which reduces the volume of water in the brain, which should give it a little more space to cope with the swelling."

"Does that stuff usually work?" Ed asks.

"For mild brain injuries, yes. For moderate brain injuries, it varies."

"How bad is Roy's?"

"It's difficult to tell, since nobody was with him during the initial period after the injury, and the seizure complicates matters. But right now I'd put it in the moderate category."

"So you think those things will be enough?"

"We hope so."

"What about the other stuff? His back was bleeding a lot."

"The lacerations on his back are relatively shallow. We've used tissue adhesive to seal them, rather than stitches. It works just as well and doesn't need to be removed."

"Tissue adhesive," Ed echoes. "You mean, you glued him up?"

Knox looks disgruntled at this description, but nods. "Essentially, yes."

Ed's emotions are so all over the place right now he has to fight not to laugh, but the doctor's next words are like a shock of ice water. 

"The a-- wait, has someone told you that your partner was sexually assaulted?" Dr Knox asks, suddenly looking awkward. It's obvious that he's much more comfortable with imparting the medical minutiae than the more social aspects of his job.

"Yeah," Ed says numbly. "Well, no. But I already knew. The paramedics... I, um, overheard them say it."

"Ah, good," Knox says, looking relieved - presumably that he's not about to have a hysterical relative on his hands.

"Well, the anal tearing is relatively minor and hasn't required stitching. The bleeding was primarily from an external fissure. There are also some smaller rectal tears, but there's no internal bleeding or damage, as far as we can see. We'll have to watch for infection, but he's on a preventative dose of antibiotics, and we don't anticipate any issues. We've also taken some blood to test for STDs, but he'll have to be re-tested at various points over the next few months."

Ed doesn't have a clue what to say to all of that. The idea of Roy catching anything from the bastards who raped him hadn't even occurred to him, but adds yet another log to his bonfire of rage, and he has to fight to push it back down again. He feels Al's hand press gently against his back, solid and comforting.

"Other than that, he has fairly extensive bruising to the body and face. He was also dehydrated and has some electrolyte imbalances, which we're working on correcting. But right now, the head injury is the main concern."

Knox looks between Ed and Al. "Do you have any questions?"

Ed's sure he should have questions, but right now his brain is in overload trying to process all of the information he's just been given. Fortunately, he has the world’s best little brother.

"How long is he expected to stay in the ICU?" Al asks. Ed's grateful for the backup.

"It all depends on how he responds to the treatment. If he improves tomorrow, he may be able to be moved to a general ward by the end of the day. But there's also the possibility that he may take days to start improving, or that there may be setbacks, such as a very slow brain bleed that we haven't been able to detect, as yet."

"How will you know if that does happen?" Al asks.

"We'll be able to detect the increase in intracranial pressure, which we're testing every half an hour. He'll also have another CAT scan tomorrow to look for any changes."

Al nods, apparently satisfied.

When neither Ed nor Al seem inclined to ask anything further, Knox says: "If you have any other questions, the ICU nurse should be able to help you."

After Knox leaves, Ed sinks into the visitor's chair next to Roy's bed, feeling even more overwhelmed.

Judith comes over not long after. "I know it's a lot to take in all at once," she says sympathetically. "But try not to worry. He's here so that we can keep an eye on him – if anything changes, we can deal with it immediately. He's getting the best care possible."

Ed nods, attempting to muster a smile. "Yeah, I know. Thanks."

Al stands behind him, draping his arms over Ed's shoulders, and Ed leans his head back against Al's stomach, grateful for the physical contact. 

After a few minutes Ed rallies a little, and he pats the back of Al's hand in thanks.

"Ok, so. We keep him company, the docs make sure his brain doesn't get squished inside his skull, and Roy gets to catch up on his beauty sleep. Everything else, we'll deal with later."

"That's pretty much it," Al agrees.

Judith finds them a second chair and Al takes a seat. Despite his appearance of hale heartiness, Ed knows that Al still fatigues more easily than most. 

Ed reaches between the two side panels and curls his fingers around Roy's hand. Roy doesn't stir, but the contact is as much for Ed as it is for Roy.

They sit like that for a while, Ed and Al occasionally conversing softly, aware of the other patients in the room and trying not to add to the general noise level. The room isn't at all peaceful, with all the beeping, the intermittent alarms, the nurses and doctors bustling around.

Ed remembers the paediatric ICU as a less intimidating place. The staff had made some effort to brighten the place up for the kids, with pictures on the walls, brightly-coloured curtains, and the nurses all wearing gowns with cartoon characters on them. 

He guesses adults don't merit the same attempts at comfort and reassurance, because this ICU is a pretty grim place. The floor, walls and roof are white, the curtains are a faded salmon, and there's absolutely nothing in the way of decoration whatsoever. Everything is bare and functional. This place is obviously about pulling people back from the brink of death rather than making them comfortable. 

Which is important, Ed agrees when Al points this out, but he doesn't see why the place couldn't be brightened up a bit as well. He's sure the patients who are conscious would appreciate it, as would the visitors. Al doesn't disagree with that.

Ed checks the time on his phone, and it's just gone half past twelve.

"You should head home," Ed says. Al gets the mulish look that tends to precede stubbornness, and Ed continues quickly to head him off at the pass. "I'm gonna stay in case he wakes up, but there's no reason for both of us to be tired and uncomfortable all night," he says, trying to sound reasonable. "I'm less freaked out now that I can actually see him. I'll be all right, I promise." Al looks like he wants to argue with this, so Ed pulls out his trump card. "And if you stay, I'll just worry about both of you," he says.

Al narrows his eyes, knowing exactly what Ed's doing, but eventually he sighs.

"All right. But you have to promise to keep messaging me and letting me know how you and Roy are both doing, and call me the instant you need me – I'll be back as fast as I can if you need anything, ok?"

Ed promises, and Al hugs him tightly. 

"See you tomorrow, Roy," Al says before leaving, patting Roy's knee over the blanket. Ed is oddly touched. Al doesn't know Roy from a bar of soap, but because Ed cares, he cares.

"See? He's a good kid," Ed tells Roy after Al's gone. "You'll like him, everyone does." He takes Roy's hand again, stroking it gently with the side of his thumb. "Just don't like him _too_ much, ok? I saw you first."

Ed's never really had cause to be jealous of Al in the romantic arena since they've never competed for the same person before, but if they ever did, Ed's really not sure who'd win. Now that they're effectively playing on different fields, it shouldn't be a problem – unless Al decides to hop the fence too, of course. While Ed doesn't think it's likely – Al's never given any hints that he might be interested in guys, and seems perfectly comfortable with his heterosexuality, unlike Ed – he figures anything's possible. For the moment Al seems pretty content with Mei, though.

Ed knows his thoughts are wandering, focus finally succumbing to mental exhaustion. He's close to drowsing when he first feels Roy's fingers twitch. Ed's fully alert immediately, sitting up and squeezing Roy's hand in return.

"Hey, Roy," Ed says.

It takes another minute or two before Roy stirs properly. Roy's fingers tighten around Ed's hand and he blinks blearily, murmuring something that Ed doesn't catch, the word slurred and only half-formed.

"What?"

"Maes?" Roy asks, a little more clearly this time, sounding confused and uncertain. His eyes are open but not really focused.

"Uh, I dunno what that is," Ed says blankly.

Roy's gaze drifts slowly across the room. "Where…?"

"You're in hospital. You banged your head." Ed figures it's probably better not to mention the attack until Roy's more lucid.

"IED... not Havoc's fault," Roy mutters, the sounds unclear and imprecise. And then, more insistently: "Where's Maes?"

"Uh, I dunno, sorry. It's just me here, Ed."

"Ed?" Roy asks, sounding bewildered.

Roy tugs his hand free from Ed's and reaches up to feel the oxygen tube currently hooked beneath his nose, frowning unhappily.

"Don't pull it out," Ed says quickly, and Roy looks at him, confused. "I know it's annoying, but it's there to help you breathe."

Judith comes over to stand at the other side of the bed. "Hello, Roy. I was wondering if you could tell me your name and birthdate, please?"

Roy looks slightly startled at being addressed by a second voice, and turns his head to the side so he can look at Judith properly.

"Hello, there," she says with a smile once he focuses. "Can you tell me your name?" 

"Captain Roy Mustang," Roy replies, and Ed is briefly startled by the sound of Roy's rank - he hasn't heard it before. He also hadn't expected Roy to have such a high rank, considering his age.

"What about your birthdate?" Judith prompts.

Roy has to think for a moment before he manages to drag it from his memory, stumbling over the numbers. Ed does some quick mental calculations and realises Roy is 27, nearly 28. Not quite ten years older than Ed, but close. 

"Well done," Judith says, making a note on Roy's chart. "Can you tell me what day it is today?"

Roy seems to think about this for a bit before his attention wanders off, gaze drifting upwards.

"Too bright," Roy complains, turning his head away from the lights overhead. 

"He's been saying that since I found him," Ed tells Judith.

"Roy, I need to check your eyes," Judith says. "Can you look at me?"

Roy attempts to follow this instruction, seeming to struggle to focus. Judith gets out a small penlight and shines it into one of Roy's eyes. Roy hisses and turns away immediately, bring his hand up to try and protect his face.

"No, no," he says plaintively, sounding like a child pleading not to be hurt any further, vulnerable and confused. It sets off every protective instinct Ed has, and he has to resist the temptation to bodily shield Roy from further harm, knowing the nurse is only doing her job.

"All right, I won't do it again," Judith soothes. "Still a little sensitive to light, then. Can you tell me where you hurt, Roy?"

"Head," Roy says immediately. And then, less certainly: "Back?"

"That makes sense," Judith says. "Since you cracked your head pretty hard and have some nasty cuts on your back. Do you think you can give me a thumbs up with this hand?" She asks, tapping Roy's free hand. 

Roy frowns in concentration but then his fingers clench into a fist, his thumb sticking out.

"Well done!" Judith enthuses, adding another note to Roy's chart. 

"Thirsty," Roy says. 

"Well, that's definitely something I can help with." Judith bustles off and fetches a jug of water, a cup, and a bendy straw. 

"The doctors don't want you sitting up yet, so you'll have to drink it with a straw for now," she instructs. 

She pours until the cup is about a third full and puts the straw in, and then holds it out to Ed. Ed takes it gratefully, pleased to be able to do something practical for Roy. He holds the cup just below Roy's mouth. Roy blinks, not seeming to be able to focus on it.

"Here, there's a straw right in front of you."

He touches it against Roy's lip and Roy draws it into his mouth, taking a few moments before he manages to coordinate sucking and swallowing. Once he does, the cup is quickly emptied.

"More?" Roy asks.

"Let that settle for a few minutes before you have any more," Judith says.

"Mmm." Roy's eyes close again, as if even that brief effort has exhausted him.

"Roy, can you stay awake for me a little longer?" Judith asks.

Roy's eyes flutter open but then sink shut again.

"Hey, Roy?" Ed asks, touching his hand to try and get his attention.

Roy's fingers twitch, but he doesn't make any response.

Judith gives Ed a sympathetic glance. "His brain's still trying to repair itself, and it can do that best if he's sleeping. He's also still recovering from the seizure – a lot of people are pretty groggy in the period directly after a seizure. And he's on a low dose of sedation, as well. It's a lot to try and fight against." 

Ed must still look downcast, because Judith pats him on the shoulder. "Hey, he's actually doing really well! His vitals are steady, and even though he was confused, he was still more alert than the previous time he woke up. He scored a 12 on responsiveness earlier, but just now he was at 14. He didn't get agitated this time, either – probably because he had a familiar face nearby."

Ed would like to think he had something to do with it, but he isn't so sure. "I don't even think he recognised me," Ed says, subdued. "He didn't look at me or anything."

"Roy's having some problems focusing right now, and he's very photosensitive – it's difficult to tell what he's able to see at the moment. And it's very normal for patients with head trauma to be confused, disoriented, and to have trouble with their memories. Some of them don't recognise people they've known all their lives, or even remember their own names. The thing is, even if he didn't acknowledge you, he still heard your voice, felt you holding his hand, smelled you nearby – and all of those things can be subconsciously reassuring. So even though he might not have known why he was relaxed, it still helped."

"You think so?" Ed says, brightening a little.

Judith nods. "I've worked here long enough to see how patients respond to people they care about. Even patients who are unconscious will have better vitals when a loved one has been sitting and talking to them, and many of them report that they remember being comforted by their presence."

Ed remembers endless hours sitting next to Al's bedside, chattering to him and reading him books and even talking him through his homework. After he'd woken up, Al had said he didn't remember any of the specifics, but he'd been aware that Ed was there. He'd said he'd hated the nights, when Ed'd had to go home and he was left alone.

"Yeah. That's what Al said, too, after he woke up."

"What happened to him?" Judith asks.

"Car accident," Ed says. "Traumatic brain injury, three months in a coma, then a year and a half of rehab."

Judith makes a sympathetic noise. "TBIs are rough. Still, he looks like he's doing pretty well now."

"Yeah. He still has trouble with shoelaces and some other things, but he's pretty good on the whole."

"Hopefully Roy will recover from his just as well."

"Yeah, hopefully."

Ed runs a hand over Roy's poor battered head, stroking back his hair with slow, gentle sweeps. He wishes he could do something more practical to help, but hopefully Roy will at least subconsciously register having somebody who cares nearby.

"Hear that? You gotta get better, get your brain back into gear. You don't wanna be outdone by a ten year old, do you? He'll never let you hear the end of it."

"Can I get to his head for a few moments?" Judith asks, moving around to Ed's side of the bed.

"Sure." Ed moves back to give her room.

Judith switches on one of the machines by Roy's bed and pulls out something that looks like a VR headset. She settles it very carefully over Roy's eyes and fits the strap over his head.

"What's that?" Ed asks. 

"It's a machine that measures ICP - intracranial pressure. It's sort of like a blood pressure cuff, but this one measures the pressure inside a specific vein in the brain, which gives us an idea of whether the swelling is getting better or worse."

Ed nods, watching with interest as she switches it on and it starts up with a low-frequency hum.

"Is it getting any better?" Ed asks hopefully, once the machine has beeped that it's readings are complete.

Judith takes the reading and adds it to the chart. "It's about the same as last time," she says. "But that's good, it means the drugs are doing their job, they're preventing it from getting any worse. It'll improve, we just have to give it a bit more time."

Ed nods, resigned to yet more waiting. He's been here before, and knows he can survive it, but he hated it then and he hates it now.

Judith returns to her desk with Roy's chart, tapping away at the computer, presumably entering information into Roy's electronic record.

Ed settles back into the chair by Roy's bed.

It's only about fifteen minutes later when Roy's neck arches back and his body goes stiff, arms stretched out in front of him at awkward angles. Having seen the same posture the previous time Roy seized, Ed's pretty sure of what's about to happen, and he's on his feet and calling for Judith immediately.

Judith triggers some kind of alarm and comes running over as the seizure starts in earnest. She rolls Roy onto his side, checking the inside of his mouth.

"Ed, I need you to go wait in the visitor's room now. I promise I'll come back and get you as soon as he's stable again, all right?"

Ed really doesn't want to leave, but knows there's nothing he can do to help, so nods and heads out of the room, crossing paths with a doctor as he comes hurrying in.

Ed takes a seat in the corner of the visitors' room, pulling his phone out of his pocket to message Al.

 _Roy woke up for a bit earlier. he was still really confused, didn't even recognise me. he was more alert than the previous time he woke up tho which the nurse said is good. then he had another seizure, which is bad. they threw me out again, so I'm back to waiting for news._

_You want me to come back?_ Al asks.

_nah, you can't do anything either. i'm ok, just waiting in the visitor's room until they let me back in again. you get some sleep. i'll message you when i have more news._

_Ok. But please tell me if you need me for anything. Love you._

_love you too, kid._

Ed slides his phone back into his pocket and rolls his shoulders, his body sore, tired and hungry. His right shoulder in particular is nagging at him, the joint aching dully from the weight of the harness dragging on it all day. He can feel the places where the socket’s chafed at his skin. The aches and skin irritations are always amplified by stress and fatigue, and he has a surplus of both right now. 

Fuck it. It's not like he needs the second hand for anything right now. Ed heads into the disabled toilet and locks the door.

He pulls off his shirt and undershirt, dumps them on top of the hand dryer. With the arm bared, he flips open the charge port panel. As expected, it’s on the low side; another reason to remove it now while he has the chance. Having it run down completely while he’s still wearing it would likely be pretty awkward.

He unstraps the shoulder harness and releases the seal on the socket, laying the arm down on the floor. He redresses quickly, having mastered buttons one-handed long ago. At one point in his life he'd had to dress both Al and himself with only the one functional hand between them. Finally, he pulls the right sleeve inside-out so it doesn't dangle. 

Ed returns to the waiting room, plunking the arm down on the seat beside him. Freeing his shoulder and stump from the weight and compression is a definite relief. As much as he loves the prosthetic, he’s still happy he’s able to go without it from time to time.

Judith returns to fetch him after half an hour or so, doing a double-take when she notices the lack of arm. She spots it on the seat beside Ed after a moment and Ed can almost see the realisation hit.

"I was in the car, too," Ed says, by way of an explanation. He's not interested in talking about himself right now, though. "How's Roy?" 

"He's unconscious again," Judith says. "But he's stable for now."

"Having another seizure is bad, isn't it?" Ed asks. 

Judith thinks for a moment, obviously trying to be cautious with her phrasing. It reminds Ed of Roy, and he has to swallow a pang of worry.

"Seizures aren't uncommon in patients with head trauma, and they can generally be managed quite well. We caught and stopped this one relatively quickly, which hopefully prevented any further damage. But it does mean that the brain swelling is still causing issues. The doctor's prescribed a drug which should hopefully prevent any more seizures, so we'll keep our fingers crossed."

"Is it any worse? The swelling?"

"It's no worse than it was before."

Ed nods, happy that things aren't sliding backwards, even if they're not making much progress forwards, as yet.

"Can I sit with him again now?" Ed asks, not wanting to beg but willing if it'll get him back to Roy's side. "Please?"

"Of course. Come on." Judith touches his shoulder and they walk back to the ICU together.

Ed parks himself in the chair by Roy's bed yet again. Roy's nasal cannula has been swapped for a face mask now. It makes him look sicker, and Ed's worry ratchets up another notch. His eyes flick to the monitor, but other than the basic vitals of heart rate, blood pressure and oxygen saturation, he doesn't know what the numbers mean. 

Judith finishes up some paperwork for a few minutes, and then comes over to stand beside Ed. "How are you doing?" 

"Huh?" Ed asks, confused. "Me?"

"Yes, you," she says, with exaggerated patience. 

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" Ed asks, confused. He wasn't the one who was hurt.

"Maybe because your partner is in intensive care with a brain injury after being violently assaulted?" She asks dryly. Her expression softens, turns sympathetic. "Ed, he was raped. That's not an easy thing to deal with, not just for him, but the people around him, too."

"Yeah. I know. And I'm… not ok," Ed concedes. "I'm tired and kind of terrified, and really, really fucking angry." 

"That's a pretty reasonable reaction," she says.

"It's just… he doesn't deserve this. I mean, nobody does, but especially him. The guy deserves a break, and instead, he gets kicked when he's already down. It isn't fucking fair."

"Life really isn't fair sometimes."

"I guess you see a lot of people who've copped shit they didn't deserve in here."

Judith nods. "I'm sympathetic towards all my patients, but some of them have had a particularly rough time of it."

"Have you had other people, who've been attacked?" Ed forces himself to actually say the word: "I mean, raped?"

Judith nods. "Not a lot of rape victims end up in the ICU, but I’ve seen a few - he's the first guy that I'm aware of, though."

"How'd their partners react?"

"Everyone reacts differently to something like that. Some of them get totally overprotective. Some get really angry, and end up taking it out on everyone around them. Sometimes they just can't deal with it, and shut down emotionally."

Ed can understand the temptation to shut down when everything feels so overwhelming, but knows that wouldn't help Roy. "I wanna help him, but I dunno how," Ed confesses. "What should I do?"

"Be patient with him. Be compassionate. Listen without judging. Respect his feelings and his decisions, even if you don't always agree with them. Offer support, but don't force anything on him. He might not be willing or even able to let anybody help him, at first. You'll probably get frustrated with him, so whenever you do, go back through the list: be patient. Be compassionate. Listen to what he's really saying."

"You sound like you know a lot about this stuff," Ed says.

Judith gives a small, sad smile. "My sister was seventeen when she picked the wrong guy to go on a date with."

"Fuck. I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, me too. But you and me, we're the support crew. It's our job to be calm and steady and not react even if we're provoked. That's not always easy when we're dealing with our own emotions, too."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Ed says with feeling. He knows how to be someone's physical backup; he did that for Al for a year. But being an emotional support is something he doesn't really feel qualified for. It's not gonna stop him trying, of course - Al was right, Ed's already invested himself in Roy's wellbeing, and he's not the sort to give up just because things get tough. He'll step aside if he's asked to, but otherwise, he'll be here for as long as he's wanted.

"You'll do ok," Judith assures him. "You care, and that's the most important thing. Everything else you can work out as you go along."

Ed sincerely hopes she's right.

As the clock ticks its way past two in the morning, Ed finds himself exhausted; even though he hasn't exactly _done_ much this evening in terms of physical activity, the emotional rollercoaster has been draining. He rests his head against the side-rail of the bed and closes his eyes just for a minute.

He jumps when there's a touch on his shoulder.

"Ed, go home."

"I can't," Ed protests. "What if he wakes up and I'm not here?"

"If he wakes up, I promise I'll look after him. That's my job, remember?" Judith teases gently.

"But what if he's confused? You might need me, to help calm him down."

"He's not going to wake up for at least a few hours, probably longer. His poor brain needs a rest."

Ed frowns, trying to rally another argument through the brain-fog of his own fatigue.

" _You_ need rest, too. You need to go home, eat something, have a shower, and get some sleep."

"I'm fine!" Ed protests. "I've pulled all-nighters to finish assignments before."

"Ed, this is going to be a marathon, not a sprint. He's going to need you tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that - and you can't support him if you've worn yourself out." 

"I can sleep in the chair--"

"Don't make me throw you out," Judith says firmly, and Ed knows that tone of voice as the one to be very wary of when used by nurses. "You need to go home, eat and sleep."

Ed grumbles, but pushes himself to his feet. "What should I do with Roy's clothes?" he asks, holding up Roy's satchel. 

"You can leave them here, there's a drawer for the patient's things just behind you." Ed finds it and slides Roy's satchel in. "There's no valuables in there?" Judith asks.

Ed shakes his head. "Just clothes. I should have grabbed other things for him too, but I wasn't thinking."

"He might appreciate some toiletries, if you can get hold of some. Toothbrush, hairbrush, razor - that sort of thing."

Ed picks up a little, appreciating being given something practical to do. "Yeah, sure, I can do that."

"Good. I don't want to see you back in here before eight."

Ed checks his phone, which tells him it's 2:32am. "Seven," he bargains.

Judith narrows her eyes at him. "Seven thirty."

"Done!"

Ed hesitates in the doorway. "Will you call me? If anything happens? Like, if he gets worse, or he wakes up and you can't get him calmed down?"

"I'll call you, I promise."

"Ok. Thanks."

"Night, Ed."

Ed gets a taxi home and staggers up to his apartment. He sticks his head into Al's room, and says softly: "Hey, I'm home."

"You ok? Roy ok?" Al mumbles sleepily.

"I'm fine. Roy's still out cold. Judith said he probably wouldn't wake up for at least a few hours, so threw me out and told me to get some sleep."

"Good. I like her. Go to bed."

"Will do. Night, Al."

"G'night, brother. Love you."

"Love you, too."

Ed microwaves a frozen meal, too tired to deal with actual cooking, and wolfs it down in minutes. Then he changes into his pjs, puts his limbs on to charge, and collapses into bed.

He doesn't expect to be able to sleep, worry still churning his stomach, but as soon as he closes his eyes he's out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of medical info in this chapter (and there will be more in the next), which I've tried to explain as I go, but if anyone is confused or intrigued, please feel free to ask questions in the comments. As anyone who knows me will attest, I'll ramble about medical stuff at the drop of a hat!
> 
> Thanks again for all the kudos and comments - the feedback from last chapter was one of the few bright patches of a very crappy month. You guys rock!

**Author's Note:**

> As a writer with confidence issues (which I think makes me one of, oh, pretty much all of them), I appreciate every kudo and comment beyond words. AO3 readers are amazing and lovely people! I really want to keep going with this one, and encouragement really does help writers get through those dark, frustrating nights where every word seems to come out wrong and our brains tell us we should go try something marginally less painful, like breaking a few limbs.


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